


SNATCH

by wednesdaysfire



Category: Sanctuary (TV), Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Other, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesdaysfire/pseuds/wednesdaysfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. A heiress worth billions is kidnapped by two unlikely foes. Will the heiress submit to the will of her captors, or will this game get spun around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINALLY POSTED ON FANFICTION! Some chapters will be updated for clarifications. These will have a warning added to them for those who've already read it. WORK IN PROGRESS!

There was no need for chitchat. Claudia smashed her arm through the side of the car window and unlocked it from the inside. On the other side of the narrow street, HG was dragging an unyielding woman by her hair as she struggled against her flailing limbs. The woman was screaming with a gag in her mouth and there was a dark liquid coming out a gash on the side of her face.

“You are going to be quiet darling, or I’ll have to shut you up myself.” HG muttered into the woman’s ear as the hostage bucked her body against her captor.

From the side of the car, Claudia threw her accomplice a dirty look, “Just shut her up!”

Giving the younger woman an equally dark look, HG hissed, “She has to remain conscious.”

The redhead rolled her eyes as she returned to the car. After fidgeting around in the dark, there was a popping noise then a low beep. She ducked farther down in the car for a moment and then reappeared. In her hands she held a small laptop device and a cell phone. After hefting the laptop into a bag on her shoulder, she casually tossed the phone across the street as if it was trash. It shattered into separate pieces upon impact.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

HG had already locked and loaded their hostage into the backseat of the getaway vehicle. Simultaneously, both women opened their doors and climbed into the car.

In the backseat the woman stared bug-eyed while making mewling noises around the gag in her mouth. HG, who sat in the driver’s seat, gazed at her through the review mirror. In the mirror, the image of the woman was quite pathetic. Her hair was a tangled mess and her cocktail dress was torn on the left strap. There was also red lipstick smeared all over her lower face.

Tired of the woman’s mewling noises, Claudia reached backwards and slapped her clear across the cheek.

“Shut the frack up!”

As if she needed to be any louder, the woman burst into fierce tears. Behind the gag there was the sound of her muffled diatribe as she struggled against restraint and attempted to fight herself free. Both of the women watched the act with matching blank expressions.

When the woman began to show signs of tiring, HG touched a hand to the crook in Claudia’s arm and gave a gentle squeeze.

“I think you’re going about this the wrong way. You’re supposed to be gentle darling, or they’ll never open up to you.”

To put emphasis on the point, HG turned towards the woman and gave her an infamous smirk. The tired hostage threw her a deadly glare, but the look did little to faze the dark eyed woman. Instead the corner of her mouth seemed to go up in slight amusement. It gave the hostage a chill.

“Now dear, would you like for us to remove the sock?” HG’s tone of voice was as gentle as a nurse coming to checkup. Hearing the British lithe did something strange to the hostage. Though she was shaking with fury the woman nodded her head, a yes.

On the passenger’s side, Claudia snorted.

Mentally marking her score, HG reached forward and gently pulled the dingy gag from the hostages’ mouth.

“There you go.”

With the gag removed, the woman sat with her mouth hanging open, she was too stunned to react.

“Better?” said the redhead.

There was a moment of pause as the hostage blinked between the two psychopaths. Though she was speechless, her mind was a storm. To keep herself sane, she forced her mind to form a catalogue of the attack. Her hands and legs were bound and she was in the middle of nowhere. The two assailants, both women significantly smaller in stature, had somehow managed to manhandle and kidnap her in the middle of a Parisian club district. After concluding the assessment, the woman did the only thing she could think of doing.

Scream.

“Help! Help! Somebody, helpppp!”

Annoyed, the young redhead folded her arms and turned sideways in her seat.

“See, I told you we should’ve just knocked her out.”

HG’s brow crinkled in frustration. This was not going as planned. Reaching into the glove box, HG turned to the screaming lady. Her beautiful face was marred with a mixture of blood and tears.

“Darling, you’ve left me with no choice.”

HG pointed a glock into the woman’s face. As she cocked the hammer, there was the unmistakable sound of three clicks. Faced with death, the woman silenced immediately. The dark haired woman gave a breath of relief. Considering she was at the trigger end of the gun, the hostage thought the woman strange.

“Thank you dearie.”

With her feet folded underneath herself, Claudia flicked open her laptop. On the screen was an image of the very woman they were holding captive on the back seat.

“Could you please tell us your name? We’ll like to clarify some research.”

Two pairs of eyes turned towards the captive. One curious, the other blank. Finding her voice, the hostage pushed her words through quivering lips.

“M-m-Myka.”

A sarcastic smirk appeared on the younger woman’s face,

“Ok, M-m-Myka, do you have a last name?”

Eyes narrowed at the back of the snarky captors head, Myka spoke again, this time her voice was strong.

“Bering.”

“Great.”

Claudia snapped the laptop shut and held out the palm of her hand.

“Twenty bucks. You said she wouldn’t stutter.”

Beside her the darker haired woman guffawed, “This is uncalled for, we just pulled a gun at her head. What do you think she would’ve done?”

“We, I think you mean, you. You just pulled a gun on her, I’m just sitting here doing the research.”

At this, the paler woman’s nostrils flared. “Why you incorrigible little—

From the backseat, Myka watched the two women bicker with a stunned expression on her face. Was this supposed to be some type of sick joke?

“Care to share Curly?”

The snarky redhead was viewing her through the review mirror. Myka had already determined that she dangerous than she appeared. Her actual appearance, sort of nerdy and tomboyish, literally contradicted her inner venom.

“I think she’s asking what exactly is going on in the pretty little head of yours.” The darker woman’s eyes gleamed as she spoke. It appeared that she thought she was the charming one of the two. Myka wanted nothing more than to wipe the condescending smirk off her face.

Giving them both the stinkeye, Myka turned up her nose, “If you must know. I was just thinking about how royally screwed the both of you are. And how before this nights out, not only will the both of you be dead, but I’ll be comfortably back in my home sipping a vintage Merlot, not giving a damn.”

“You think?”

The redhead’s brow quirked, she bore a look of genuine surprise. With an unladylike snort, the hostage turned her head sideways, and gave her assailants the cheek.

“I know.”

From the corner of her eye, Myka watched as the two women exchanged a signal. Reaching an agreement, the darker haired woman’s eyebrow twitched once then she turned around. Facing the captive, the pale woman spoke, her voice low and throaty.

“Righty-ho then.”

In terror, Myka leaned backwards as the dark haired woman reached forward and grasped one hand over her mouth and the other around the area between her neck and ears. HG met her gaze and watched curiously as the woman’s green eyes widened in panic.

_Poor girl._

HG pressed onto the pressure point until Myka’s eyes rolled backwards and her body went limp. Ridding her hand of smeared lipstick and shifting the car into gear, HG turned towards her accomplice.

“Now where were we again?”

Claudia re-opened the laptop. This time the screen opened to a news article. Brows furrowed, Claudia read aloud-

“The Bering Dynasty, Stock and Mining royalty. Five generations of hard earned oil wealth has been led by the current eldest heir, Warren Bering. He is in the process of retiring and is currently living in Montenegro with his wife of forty years, Jeannie. Together, Warren and Jeannie have two daughters, Myka and Tracy. The youngest is married to a banker and lives in Manhattan New York, and the oldest is single and currently living a bohemian lifestyle in Paris, France.”

Claudia looked up from the file as she closed it. A cocky smirk played about her lips.

“Myka Bering is worth at least _twelve billion dollars_.”


	2. Chapter 2

The inside of their office was a fifth floor loft apartment located in a busy London shop district. Thick sheets of black hung from the windows, and even thicker sheets of plastic stretched out on the floor. Mismatched chairs and tables were scattered about the room along with a series of closed black suitcases. In the corner of the room, laid a single mattress, the sheets were mussed about into a crumple.

  
Forty-eight hours prior, this room used to be all concrete. Now it was fully furnished.

  
Turning off the percolator, Claudia poured herself a large mug of coffee and right beside it she dropped a teabag into HG’s hotwater filled one. Handing both of the cups, she stepped out from the kitchen into the assigned war room on the right, it was the living room.

  
“Thank you darling.”

HG murmured as Claudia handed her the cup of tea. Nodding her head, Claudia continued her way over to the window and gazed outwards. It was a sunny mid-afternoon. Cars passed from lunch meetings to return to their offices downtown, while businessmen and bums mingled as they passed each other on the sidewalk.

_People have no clue about anything, even if it’s right under their noses._

Claudia thought as she idly stirred her coffee and a police vehicle rounded the corner. One would think, considering the heinous crime she just committed, that she would’ve shown the least amount of concern. She didn’t.

At the sound of sirens, her expression went bored.

 _Must be the gangs._ She concluded, taking a sip.

“Darling, you know how much I detest when you pour the water before adding the tea.”

HG ‘s voice rang from the corner of the rooms only armchair. The redhead ran a hand through her hair and turned around.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t the one up till five in the fracking morning trying to hack into a billionaires collection of ninety-three bank accounts.”

The raven haired accomplice rolled her eyes as if to say, point taken. Giving her infernal drink another sip, HG sat it down on the floor. She then pulled a bizarre device from inside a box placed at the end of the rooms one and only table.

“Since we’re still comparing scores, look at the beauty I conjured up last night.”

Claudia came closer to view the inside of the box. Her brows rose in impression after a few quiet moments of inspection.

“Wait, so this will what, act as a switch?”

“Yes, it only needs to be put in place then—,” HG made an exploding expression with her hands. “Isn’t it exquisite?”

The redhead stuck her hand into the box and ran a finger over the wirings of the mechanism. Her lips twisted.

“I’m seriously jellin’ over your brainage right now.”

HG’s dark eyes flashed at the claim, “Your brain works beautifully, darling. Actually, compared to most people, you are by far a most ideal specimen of superior intellect.”

The redhead’s mouth hung open at the compliment. After eyeing the older woman suspiciously, she pointed an accusing finger in her direction.

“You didn’t just pull that out of your ass did you?”

“And if I did?” There was a hint of suggestion as the Cheshire grin grew on the Brits face. Claudia pressed her hand over her eyes and groaned. Her cheeks were a fiery red.

“Darnit HG! I hate when you do that.”

In response British woman broke into a laugh.

“Mmm! Mmmm!”

At the muffled sound, both women turned to the middle of the room.

Forgotten and strapped to a chair was their billionaire heiress. Her face was still covered in ruined makeup and her dress was even shabbier than ever. This time she had a leather thong tied around her mouth and leather restraints were holding her pinned to the seat.

The two captors stared at her as if she was an alien.

Noticing how pale the woman’s face was, Claudia winced as she tried to remember something.

“HG, did we feed her?”

There was a thoughtful pause before HG slowly replied.

“I don’t think we did.”

Claudia’s face shifted to a one of humor, “Sheesh, who are we kidding? We don’t even remember to feed ourselves around here!”

And so Claudia stepped forward and removed the heiress’ gag.

The ball center of the gag popped from the hostages mouth with a distinctive wet plop. Once the gag was removed, Myka flexed her sore jaw and blinked her tear encrusted eyes. Her head whipped side to side as if she was looking for an escape.

“Thirsty?”Claudia asked.

She bent to the brunette’s level and placed a hand on top of Myka’s shoulder. Myka did not trust this younger woman’s attempt at kindness one bit at all. She blankly stared at the redhead, her mouth clutched tight. On the other side of the room, HG wore an amused expression as she gently cleared her throat.

“I don’t think she trusts you anymore.”

“Huh?” Claudia whipped her head around to meet the darker woman’s gaze. “And what gives?”

HG crossed over, the soles of her boots made a soft clicking noise against the plastic covered floor and unintentionally drew Myka’s eyes down to her legs. Clothed in black jeans, the tight fabric accentuated her figure perfectly. Confused by the thought, the hostage shook her head.

Taking position at Myka’s opposite shoulder, HG tapped a finger to her chin as she spoke.

“Prior nights incident, if I may recall, did it not involve the back of your right hand?”

The corner of Claudia’s mouth twitched as she raised surrendering hands.

“Ok. I’m done.”

Claudia rose to a stand and strode back towards the kitchen. Waving her hand dismissively over her shoulder, she signaled to her accomplice.

“From now on Miss Priss is all yours.”

HG chuckled and leaned over Myka.

The scent of her vanilla perfume filled the hostage’s nose and immediately the curly haired woman felt herself began to dizzy with a sudden heat. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Hello darling, what may I get for you today?”

At the smile on her face and the sound of her purring tone, Myka lost herself. Her mind literally went blank at the sight of her captor’s lips.

Bering, just what are you doing?

Myka chided herself back to reality and jerked upright in the seat. The leather straps bound around her wrist bit into her flesh and caused her to gasp aloud. When she looked up she found that the woman, the so-called HG, actually appeared concerned.

_The nerve!_

Green eyes narrowed, Myka huffed, “So, is this how the two of you work, Good Cop/Bad Cop?”

Her eyes flickered over to Claudia who was leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug drawn to her mouth, then back over to HG who was eyeing her with a quirked brow.

“Not necessarily.”

_Not necessarily._

Myka mocked the British woman inside of her mind. Was it wrong for her to feel more incensed by two simple words than she did when they were abusive towards her?

Giving them both glares, especially that redhaired one, Myka gritted her teeth then mellowed down to a civil tone.

“Well…Is there a place for me to you know,” Myka gestured with her head around the room. The two captors stared at her dumbly.

“I have to pee!” She bumped her fist against the chair in frustration.

“Oh, certainly.”

HG got on her knees to unbuckle the brunette from the seat. As she worked on the straps, Myka found herself watching the strange captor. She was strikingly beautiful. Her skin was pale and her hair and eyes were both rich shades of black. Gazing down at the black locks, Myka suddenly felt the urge to stroke her hair. This urge was broken as she unexpectedly felt the tightness around the bottom of her leg loosen, and the blood surge through the now freed veins. The feeling was so relieving Myka wanted to thank the captor, but the other woman was hard at work. Silently she willed her to look up. At the exact moment, HG just so happened to raise her head. Brown eyes met green and a startling moment of exchange took place between them. Neither of the women breathed. Captor was ensnared by captive, and the captive literally just the same.

And then the doorbell rang.

Unfreezing, HG reluctantly turned her head towards the kitchen at her accomplice. Claudia was wide-eyed and looked as if she was the mouse who had just got caught nicking the cheese.

Annoyed, HG soundless spoke. “Is that for you?”

Across the room, the redhead shook her head and mimed back, “No!”

HG turned her gaze onto Myka. The fierce look in her dark eyes was so startling, Myka gasped in fright.

Bollocks.

HG angrily rose to her feet and rounded to the right side of the hostage chair. Briskly, she took the arm of the chair into both hands. From the kitchen, Claudia hurriedly tipped her to the opposite side and followed suit. Together the two women lifted Myka into the air and crab walked her to the back of the room.

After sitting the chair down in front of an unmarked door, Claudia opened it thus exposing the inside of an empty storage closet.  
Myka’s eyes widened.

Already holding her end, HG waited for Claudia resume position. When the redhaired returned, she pulled too hard on her side and nearly dropped the hostage onto HG’s foot.

“Careful.” HG muttered.

Claudia grunted in response as she backed into the storage room. After her back came flush with the wall, she dropped her end of the chair and HG followed suit. Without another word, the dark haired woman disappeared from the closet and around the corner. Last to exit, Claudia threw Myka a stern look then closed the door.

Just when Myka’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness the door flew open and in popped the redhead.

“Almost forgot.”

Myka squinted at the image of the girl and opened her mouth to protest. Before any words could be released, her mouth was quickly filled with the hard plastic ball gag. Feeling a quick pat on the cheek, the door was shut once again.

Outside the closet, the two accomplices gathered their wits. The doorbell rang for a second time as Claudia straightened her clothes and HG pulled a gun from under her shirt. Taking up a position on the back of the door, HG signaled for Claudia to open it. The redhead’s face was frazzled but she placed a firm hand onto the handle.

After taking a deep breath, Claudia opened the door.

“Lattimero’s Pizzeria!”

In the hall stood a goofy dark haired guy wearing a pinstriped red and cream shirt, along with a shocking red baseball cap. He held up two boxes of pizza in his hands. Everything had the name “Lattimero’s” running across it.

The redhead blankly stared at the stranger. After a full ten seconds, she finally said, “Pizza?”

“Mmmhmm, and very delicioso pizza at that!” The deliveryman happily replied. Claudia’s eyes drifted down to the boxes in his hands.

He wasn’t lying. From the boxes wafted the scent of melted cheese and spicy sausage. Her stomach rumbled loudly at the mere smell.Interrupting the exchange, a sharp thumping noise erupted from the back of the apartment. Claudia’s hand gripped onto the door, whereas on the other side, HG silently swore.

It sounded as if Myka was knocking her chair against the shelves.

On the other side of the door, HG decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Holding herself still, she chose to give the disturbance a moment’s breath. Instead of stopping, the thumping noises became louder and more frantic.

Officially freaked, Claudia grabbed onto the pizza boxes.

“Thanks, uh, delivery guy.”

She tried to back away from the door, but he stuck his palm in and held it open. Claudia’s face enraged as her eyes flicked onto his grubby paw. The pizza man’s warm brown eyes were confused.

“Uh, the money?”

“Oh, right.”

Mentally kicking herself, Claudia pushed the boxes back into his hands and began to fumble inside her pockets.

“What was it again?”

“It was eighteen dollars and fifty-nine cents. Did you order with a coupon?”

“Uh-um, no.”

Claudia fished out some bills and just barely counted them out. As she reached to hand him the change, the unmistakable sound of a woman’s scream came from the around the corner. Shaken, the money fell from her hands.

“Dammit!” Claudia hissed as she bent over to pick up the change.

“Is something going on?”

The nosey delivery man stuck his head through the door. Claudia pulled it up and purposefully thunked him on the head.

“Of course not!” She said a bit too cheerily, shoving the money into his hand. The delivery man drew back and rubbed his wrist onto the sore spot on his head. Deciding to chuck up the strange behavior, he pocketed the money. Still holding the pizzas, he was about give her the standard Lattimero’s “Weekend Deals” spiel, when suddenly from inside of the apartment- someone started screaming for help. Brown eyes narrowed, as the delivery man skeptically frowned at the woman. Something wasn’t right. Blocking his view, the redhead pulled the door closer.

“Uhhh…Porn.”Claudia stumbled on. “My porn, it’s really loud in the other room, I kind of forgot to turn it off.”

Mistaking her blushing face for embarrassment, the delivery man’s eyes widened in surprise. Porno in the afternoon?  
First impressions of the girl, he definitely didn’t peg her as being naughty. A blush formed on his face as his brain suddenly became imaginative.

  
“Oh, I see. Got ya.” He said.

Claudia snatched back the pizzas, and quickly backed into the apartment. The delivery guys brows were still narrowed at her strangeness, when he happened to glance down at something shiny just outside the door. He leaned over to pick it up.

“Hey, you dropped some —

“Sorry, no thanks, bye.” The redhead kicked the door shut on the delivery man’s face.

Turning around, she spied HG who just exited the closet rolling up her sleeves. A furious expression was etched on the Brits face.

“What in the bloody hell was that?”

Claudia was completely bugged out. Her hazel eyes were wide and her face blanched as she sat the pizza boxes onto the table with trembling hands. She dropped into the armchair and folded her hands.

“I don’t know.”

HG’s dark eyes dropped to the boxes on the table.

“You didn’t order that?”

“Hells no!” Claudia’s eyes flashed violently as she jerked towards her accomplice. “You think I’m that stupid?”

The dark haired woman turned her back on her accomplice as she crossed over to the sink and began to furiously wash her hands. Shoving the faucet off, she aggressively dried her hands on a towel then tossed the balled cloth over the counter top.

“Funny you should say that, especially a certain someone who didn’t tie her gag properly.”

Claudia stood up, her stance was defensive.

“I was in a rush!”

“Well your bloody rush cost us billions.”

HG yanked opened a kitchen draw and pulled out a knife. Hefting the blade in her hands, the woman’s dark eyes took on an inhumane glint. Any soul left in there was now fully gone to black. The dark woman slowly raised her gaze, the knife held in a manner in which the blade was pointing outwards in Claudia's direction.

"Do you think it would be too difficult... to chop it all into pieces?"

All of the color drained from Claudia’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda had a weird issue with loading this chapter. I haven't read this part in so long, I was actually surprised reading it and I wrote it. 
> 
> THANKS FOR READING!!!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOTO FANFICTION ASAP to read current updates for this story.

 

The inside of the closet was womb like. Warm and pitch black, Myka's only reliable sense was her hearing.

In the extraordinary absence of light, the most miniscule of sounds were unbearably loud. She could hear the sound of her own palpitating heartbeat along with her breathing amplified tenfold in her ears. Thanks to the gag shoved in her mouth each breath was ragged, and just barely suffocating.

Just beyond the door, she fixated her ears on the sound of her captors. Their voices were as loud as if they were standing beside her in the closet.

"Can we talk about this first?" The red-haired captor's voice was nervous. From the way her pitch carried, it seemed she was coming closer.

"Darling, you have the most peculiar sense of humor." Despite the words, the British lithe lacked any sign of amusement.

"Well, can we at least bring her out here first?"

There was a pointed moment of pause just outside the door. Myka swore she could hear the sound of their soft breaths.

"Why ever would we do that?"

"Mess?"

The knob jiggled and the door flew backwards. Once again Myka had to squint her eyes to adjust to the change of light. After a few seconds, the black silhouette came into focus revealing it to be the woman, HG.

She was holding a knife.

At the sight of the sharp blade, Myka's stomach dropped. When she pulled her "little stunt" (as the woman called it) earlier, she knew without a doubt that she was going to have hell to play as a repercussion. But never had she imagined something this sadistic.

When HG had first entered the closet to stop her screaming, the dark woman closed the door and switched on the light overhead. It only took one look into her captor's dark eyes for Myka to shut up permanently. The darker woman's intense gaze was chilling.

Those near black orbs held a force so _dark_ , so _angry_ , so _deadly_ \- Myka literally feared she was gazing into the eyes of the devil herself.

Without speaking a word, HG commanded her entire being. When the darker woman bent to pick the slob covered ball gag off the floor, Myka didn't even have to be told to open her trap. Eyes wide in submission, the brunette dropped her mouth open and in a reverence akin to receiving the holy sacrament, she _took_ the gag.

Just like then, this time around HG said nothing to her. She simply came to a stop by her side. Myka shivered as she ran the knife along the strip of leather just over her chest, right above her heart.

"It was foolish of us to use this material. It worked wonderfully for the purpose, but I lack the patience for all these buckles."

In the doorway, a breathless Claudia stuck her head in. She had one hand drawn over mouth and her eyes were saucer round. It was not the most assuring expression to see on the accomplice. Immediately, Myka's heartbeat raised several notches.

Dropping so their faces were leveled, HG held the knife over Myka's wrist. Myka could just barely feel the blade teasing the top of her skin. When the dark woman finally spoke, it was in a coldly calm voice.

"Hold still."

No one needed to tell her twice. Myka obeyed.

Ignoring the squeak of her nervous cohort, HG set about a very dangerous task of using the knife to aid her in the unbuckling process. Either the blade was incredibly sharp or her level of force was pristine, either way the captor skillfully sliced through the tough leather as if it were butter.

Once it was realized the darker woman knew what she was doing, Claudia eased against the door frame and casually folded her hands under her armpits. Locking her eyes onto Myka's face, she scornfully shook her head and commented.

"You look a hot mess."

The captive blinked.

After a few more minutes, the last of the restraints were severed and HG stood to a hover above her. The dark woman's hair had fallen into her face shadowing her eyes. But that made no difference to the captive.

Myka couldn't take her eyes off of the blade.

Taking a moment to pop the gag from Myka's mouth, HG turned her attention to her accomplice at the door.

"Claudia dear, please take our guest to the bath."

The redhead's eyes flickered over the unbound and un-gagged hostage. Her brow crinkled in confusion but she gave a quick nod. As quietly as if she were a ghost, the darker woman strode out the closet and from view.

Left alone with the younger captor, Myka cautiously eyed her. The redhead didn't seem to be of any obvious harm.

"Are you coming or what?" There was a hint of humor in the girl's voice as she gestured out the doorway with a jerk of her head.

Myka shakily stood.

All of the hours of sitting had made her legs weak and her balance unstable. Just when she felt herself pitching forward, the feel of strong slim hands caught around her middle and back holding her in place.

"Gotcha!"

The redhead's lips brushed the side of her cheek as she spoke. Myka flinched on contact, but the other woman's hold was tightly keeping her in check.

"A lil slower now, Ok?"

Hearing the concern in the snarky captor's voice was strangely comforting. Myka leaned against her smaller frame for a moment to gather her bearings. After peering into the depths of hell, she now found the snarky captor a little less annoying.

Quietly, Claudia led Myka out of the closet back into the living room. As she was steered towards the bathroom, another door just on the far left, Myka's searching eyes caught onto the boxes of pizza stacked on the edge of the table.

_So that's who rang the bell._

The redhead pushed Myka into the bathroom and closed the door behind them. Taking up a position with her back against the wall by the tub, she gestured with her eyes to the toilet. It was then that Myka realized she was not having any privacy.

Too numb to feel embarrassed, the heiress gingerly pulled down her panties and dropped onto the bowl. The much needed release came out in a noisy gushing flow. Myka winced in humiliation whereas on the other side of the room, Claudia casually picked her nails.

Flushing the toilet, Myka turned to the sink to begin washing her hands. Her eyes caught onto the mirror hanging over the sink. For the first time in over twenty-four hours, she saw herself through her captor's eyes.

There were dried flecks of blood on the right side of her face and her hair was tangled as if several kittens had used it as a yarn. Even her dress was spotted with blood and it was also torn on the left side. Worst of all was her eyes.

Her own eyes were foreign to her. The usually grassy green orbs were glossy with unshed tears and darkened with fear.

"Take off your clothes."

Myka startled as the redhead appeared at her side in the mirror. "Pardon?"

If she heard correctly, Myka knew there was only one reason why they would want her to remove her clothing. Myka's entire body tensed. Because her captors were women, never once did her mind entertain the theory of rape.

_How would that even occur?_

Petrified, Myka clenched her body inwards.

Instead of repeating the command, Claudia exasperatedly rolled her eyes and brushed past the captive to turn on the shower. In jaw gaped relief, Myka watched as the redhead tested the warmth of the water then wiped her hands dry on her pants leg.

"You get five." The redhead held up five fingers. "I know you Disney princesses get their kicks with hour long showers, but you're on our time now."

Feeling as if she was reprimanded by a prison warden, Myka removed her clothes and stepped into the shower. The moment the warm water touched her skin, she groaned. Never had she welcomed being able to bathe this much before in her entire life. Remembering the time constraint, Myka quickly lathered her body and hair with a coarse bar of soap.

With careful hands, she cleaned the blood from the sore wound on her head and tried her damnedest to somehow wash her hair. As she rinsed the suds from her flesh, the layers of abuse literally seemed to melt away from her body. The feeling was so refreshing; she closed her eyes to further enjoy it.

Just when she begun to feel her muscle relax, a foreign hand shot into the shower and shut the water off.

"Times up!"

The annoying girl's voice was a little too perky as she handed a towel into the shower for Myka to use. Grudgingly, Myka accepted the cloth and wrapped it around her skin. The cheap cotton scratched against her skin like nails.

Behind the curtain, the redheads voice sounded."I'm stepping out for a minute, m'kay? Clothes are on the toilet, put them on."

Waiting until she heard the door close completely, Myka pulled the shower curtain over to the side and stepped out onto the floor. Immediately her eyes fell onto the pair of dark jeans and white button down shirt sitting on top of the toilet lid.

It was obvious who they belonged to.

Uncertain if the redhead meant an actual minute to dress, Myka quickly pulled on the clothes although her body was still damp. Leaving the last few buttons of her shirt undone, she roughly dragged her fingers through her hair, and silently cursed the girl for not leaving a comb.

A little over a minute, the door snapped open as the redhead peeked in. Claudia gave Myka an approving once over and then stepped aside for the captive to exit. As Myka exited the bath, her eyes curiously roved over the room stopping only after locating the darker woman. HG was standing in the kitchen hunched over the sink. Her shoulders were tensed and she seemed to be fuming.

Claudia led Myka to an armchair and directed her to sit, she complied.

The redhead then walked over to the edge of the table and flicked open one of the boxes of pizza. It was still warm and covered in sausage and peppers. Giving Myka a pointed look as she pushed the box closer, the redhead sat a cup filled with ice cold water next to it.

For the hungry captive, the image was taunting.

"Assuming that you are a smart girl, you do want to go home again, right?"

The hostage startled at the sudden closeness of the darker woman's voice. Turning her head, she discovered HG was standing at the edge of her shoulder watching her with folded arms and a calculating expression.

Myka's gaze flickered over her body. She was no longer had the knife but Myka could see the bulge of her gun just under her shirt.

The captive slowly nodded her head.

"Good, but first there are some rules we must apply."

There was a low hissing noise as Claudia opened a can of Mountain Dew and dropped onto the opposing couch with a plate of pizza. The redhead made herself comfy on the chair as if she was about to enjoy dinner and a movie.

"First off—

HG cut as she pulled up a wooden chair and sat on it backwards. Her elbows hung over the edge as she leaned on the top with her folded arms.

"Do you have any idea why you're here?"

The hostage blinked her eyes. She didn't know what type of game this woman was trying to play and it made her feel all the more uneasy. Voice a little cracked from dehydration, Myka responded.

"You want my money."

Across from her, the darker woman nodded her head. "Hmm, close, that's a start. But the words aren't quite right."

The hostage was confused now. What more could the two maniacs want from her? And what did she mean by the words not being right?

An acidic smile came onto the darker woman's face. Staring into those pools of black, Myka found herself feeling a bizarre jumble of emotions. She wasn't sure if her heart was pounding in her chest out of fear, or worse, arousal.

The darker woman continued in a drawl, "See the thing is, you're not giving me _your_ money."

Myka gulped as the woman dropped her eyes and slowly traced a finger over a rough corner on the chair. The captive felt herself flush as her eyes followed the delicate circular motion. Drawing her finger to an abrupt halt, the darker woman's gaze flickered back up to the captives. There was undeniable truth in those dark eyes.

"You're giving me, _my_ money."

Complete silence followed as the captive gaped at the captor. On the opposing side of the room, Claudia was so entranced by the scene playing before her, her slice of pizza missed her mouth as she bought it to her face.

HG ran a hand through her hair then broke the silence. "Ms. Bering, exactly how well do you know your family history? Do you genuinely believe it was earned completely from oil?"

Myka's dumb expression was all the answer she needed to continue. Quirking a brow and cocking her head, the captor leaned in closer.

"Ever heard of the Millennium Project?"

The captive's brows furrowed in thought. Whatever it was, it sounded official enough to have been a part of history. Myka knew her history.

Growing up in a house with not one, not two, but three separate libraries filled with books, she spent her days sprawled across the couch learning about Alexander the Greats Conquest and the many scandals of the Royal Family. Her father had a thing for war stories, so a vast majority of the libraries were dedicated to the science and art of war throughout the world's history.

Coming up with nothing, Myka shook her head.

The response made the darker woman's eyes flutter. Leaning away from Myka, the woman softly sighed.

"Of course not."

HG pushed off from the chair and retrieved the glass of cold water from the table. Instead of drawing it to her own lips, she handed the cup towards the heiress. Surprised, Myka graciously accepted the offering but wariness stalled it upon her lips.

With the redhead drinking a soda, and her accomplice not drinking anything- Myka owned right to suspicion.

"Nothings in it, I swear."

Claudia's voice rang from the opposing chair. Myka drew her eyes towards her to see her waving her hands. Seeing her words held little to no merit, the redhead looked over to her accomplice.

"Tell her HG."

HG frowned. "If she's fool enough to think we're going to drug her after all of this, then that's her problem."

Scowling, the captive took her first sip of the drink. The cool water was like an elixir as it went down her parched throat and quenched her drought like thirst. Once again, Myka found herself thanking the heavens for life's simpler pleasures.

After she finished the drink, HG began to speak.

"Many years ago, I once worked for your father in a laboratory as an inventor and researcher."

The memory of HG showing Claudia the bizarre device came to mind. From the way the two cooed over it, it was like watching two parents standing over a baby in a bassinet. Myka unintentionally smiled.

"Though I was a part of a group, D5-67, I single-handedly designed, coded, and test trialed Millennium from start to finish. Because of its delicate subject matter, all of the members were sworn to secrecy. We were never to share the nature of our work with anyone out of the field, not even those holding similar occupations within the federal government.

It was warned that if we did, dire repercussions would be exacted." HG paused, her emphasis leaving room for imagination.

"A week after it was unveiled, your father and his benefactor friends held a little soiree at the lab. I was not invited. Instead, while I was at home fast asleep, an assassin broke into my apartment and set to kill me."

It was then that Myka noticed there was in fact a faint scar on the side of the woman's forehead leading into her scalp. Unbuttoning her shirt, the dark woman pulled the left side over and Myka was able to see the scar of a bullet.

"Two bullets to the chest, and one to the side of the head."

The hostage opened her mouth in awe. Helena closed and buttoned her shirt, "If it wasn't for a family friend dropping by that evening, I honestly would've bled out. Doctors said it was a miracle that I'm even still here."

Dark eyes went cold. "I however did die."

"Your father's sloppy assassin reported me dead, and thanks to my coma induced disappearance- I was dead to the world. Everyone believed his word for it and paid him a hefty sum in exchange. It wasn't till some time later did I learn all of my coworkers met the same unfortunate ending."

HG went silent.

From the way a shadow played about her face, Myka could tell she was dwelling on bad memories. The hostage felt a dull ache of compassion within her chest. How could her father do that to her? How could any of those men agree to do that? They literally traded innocently souls for obnoxious amounts of money and clandestine research.

Myka felt herself go sick. To think her family wealth was earned by blood didn't sit right with her at all. For the first time in her life, she wanted nothing more than to be far and away from both the name and the fortune.

The dark captor softly whispered, "It's not a bad thing to be wealthy. It's just a bad thing to use that privilege to tear down the world and put down the less prosperous."

Shaking her head slowly, Myka met the dark woman's gaze.

"What do you want from me?"

HG took in the brunette, "I don't want anything from you. I want to use you."

The heiress winced at the brutal choice of words. HG's eyes never left hers as she continued. "You will be our leverage to get back my invention."

The exchange seemed feasible enough. Myka thought. Everyone thinks she's dead, she can't just waltz in there and demand it back. Perhaps the woman using her as leverage, would guaranteed she would get back what was owed.

Still in thought, the heiress nibbled on her bottom lip. After a few seconds, a realization sparked.

"Wait…What exactly is your invention?"

A tense silence hung in the air. For a moment, Myka was once again held privy to the demon just beyond the darker one's eyes. In a voice as cold as her expressionless face, HG cryptically responded to her question.

"You really don't want to know."

At that the darker woman turned heel and stalked off to the other side of the room. She silently began moving suitcases about the floor and dumping contents into them, her motions cold and methodical. On the opposite end of the room, her young accomplice seemed oblivious to the change in the air as she happily munched on pizza.

Throughout all of this, Myka was stunned silent.

Not only had she been kidnapped, she just learned she was living a billion dollar lie. It didn't feel good to know her family was involved in shady projects. Especially projects involving assassin plots and stolen intel.

"Hey, did you want some of this pizza?"

Myka jumped as the redhead shoved a box under her nose. Less than half of the pizza was left.

"It's really freakishly good." The redhead added this as if the amount of slices already missing wasn't an obvious clue. Before Myka could respond, on the other side of the room the other woman called.

"Claudia darling, please come over here. We've got a little packing to do."

"Oook…" Unwillingly, the redhead sat down the box and made her way over to the suitcases. Her absence provided the heiress more time to ponder the bizarre equation placed before her.

_Just what kind of work did her father do?_

Myka was so trapped inside her thoughts she didn't realize her own truths.

There were no restraints around her limbs and no gag shoved in her mouth. The exiting door was just a few foot springs behind her chair and a window was just before her. With both captors preoccupied on the opposite end of the room, she could run away if she wanted to. And if she wanted to scream, it was still daylight and people were outside walking up and down the strip.

Once added together, these truths only pointed to one obvious conclusion:

The captive was no longer held against her will.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka gets a makeover.

Bags packed and stacked neatly by the door, all that remained was the furniture and plastic covering majority of the loft. In the middle of the room, the heiress was perched on the edge of a couch facing a laptop. All of the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on edge as her fists were clenched at her sides.

She was watching the story of her life play out on the news.

Reporters were standing outside her home in Paris as policemen canvassed the area searching for clues. Some of her neighbors were being interviewed, majority of them were complete strangers to her in everyday life, yet they all had something seemingly nice to say about her. Even a few of her old classmates and coworkers shared snippets of memories and best wishes.

It was as if she was watching her own eulogy.

When the interviews cut back to photos, behind her the redhead cleared her throat and paused the video. The heiress was faced with a still image of herself at a cocktail party. She was smiling as she embarrassedly waved at someone off camera. The heiress couldn't even remember what the party was for.

"You have to admit, the photo spread was classic. Even the choice in music wasn't that bad." Claudia said as she popped from around her shoulder. The heiress threw the redhead a glare, which the younger woman simply shrugged off.

Still frowning, Myka's eyes went back to the screen. Looking at the date and time, she realized she had only been missing for nearly two days. It wasn't a long amount of time, but tied down in the chair it felt like an entire week. She wondered exactly when did anyone notice her absence, and just what was everyone's first reaction. The fact that she really was featured news all over the globe did not surprise her. Her father had friends in high places, and could afford all and more that money could buy. Despite knowing this, it didn't make her feel anymore safe or comfortable than someone less fortunate.

As of now, her life was still in the hands of her captors.

"Now what?" Myka said as she shifted towards the captors. Neither of the other women seemed one bit perturbed by the news special.

"I mean, you guys didn't think you were going to kidnap me and I'll just go gently into the night did you? There's people out there looking for me, the whole goddamn world's looking for me!"

Nestled on the couch beside her, the redhead popped open another can of soda and flicked her eyes over to the darker accomplice who was leaning against the kitchen counter.

"That sounds kind of familiar, did she just quote someone?"

"Dylan Thomas, and yes, we considered all of the variables beforehand."

"So what happens now?" The heiress repeated, this time there was more than a hint of trepidation in her voice and it was for good reason.

As she had watched the video, the twosome cleaned the entire apartment. Using towels they wiped down each and every surface to remove fingerprints and went about dumping every bit of evidence into a device that Myka realized was a makeshift incinerator. It was peculiar not only in the fact that it was compact yet high powered, but even more strangely- it did not smoke. Had the heiress not been watching the duo out of the corner of her eye the entire time, she would not have noticed the box or their clever method of destroying evidence.

If they had that up their sleeves, the heiress could only wonder what was to come next.

Before answering her question, the darker woman cryptically smirked as she turned to retrieve a whistling kettle off of the fire. When she turned around, she was holding a steaming cup to her nose.

"Now we make you disappear."

Green eyes blinked as the heiress made sense of the sentence. They weren't going to kill her now were they? Her eyes nervously flickered over the two captors. Even though they had already said that they weren't planning anything drastic, she also understood that both women had no qualms with yo-yoing between extremes with their decisions and behavior.

One eye on the incinerator, the heiress voice slightly squeaked.

"Excuse me?"

The redhead shifted on her chair and pulled out a bag. Almost at once, Myka recognized it from a local drugstore. The captor turned the bag upside down and dumped its contents on the table. Make-up, scissors, hair extensions, and a case of colored contacts scattered across the table.

Claudia picked up the extensions and dangled it beside her face.

"You seem more like a blue than a green to me?" She said this in a dead serious tone. "I mean, we could do pink but that's too shocking, don't want to draw that much attention to you."

"Wait, what?" Myka jerked her head away from the redhead. The younger woman dropped her hand. "Just what do you think you're about to do to me?"

"Ms. Bering, now that everyone knows what you look like, you will need to be made over." said the darker woman from the side of the room. The heiress gaped as she shifted her gaze between the two captors. Green eyes ablaze, the heiress picked up the extensions and shook them.

"This? I would never wear something like this! Are you insane?"

"Precisely." HG countered. "Your new look must be something that is preferably so unlike you, nobody would recognize you if you were to make a public appearance."

The darker woman sat down in the chair across from them with a fragrant cup of tea in hand. Before she had sat down, Myka couldn't help but note the little white pill she slipped between her lips before sipping from her drink. It looked to be a pain reliever.

That explains her tension earlier.

Across from Myka, the redhead clapped her hands as she enthusiastically gushed.

"Oh… this is going to be so much awesome!"

At the manic gleam in the redhead's eyes, Myka's brain took a turn into morbidity. If that girl thought she was coming anywhere near her with those things, she had another thing coming.

Making a little space between herself and the redhead, Myka turned her gaze onto the darker woman. If there was a chance for her to get her way, she was more than certain that the other woman would understand her reasoning- even if she could be a bit intense. The heiress locked eyes with her captor to farther ensure the sincerity of her next words.

"Look, I said I would help you. There's no need for anything too dramatic. Just tell me the plan and I'll happily put on a hat and a pair of shades and voila..." She flourished her fingers.

After a moment of silence, HG suddenly became absorbed into her cup of tea and Claudia attention went back to the scattered pickings. In that instance, Myka realized the powerlessness of her opinion in regards to their already seamless planning.

The redhead pressed a few strands forward for her to decide upon.

"So, blue or green?"

Staring down her nose, Myka stubbornly folded her arms. Though it was an image of absolute defiance, her next words betrayed her stance.

"Blue."

Palming the choice of disguise, Claudia glanced towards her accomplice for reassurance and then turned her gaze back onto the heiress. Without her saying a word, Myka knew what was coming next. The redhead picked up the packet of shears and ripped it open.

"Kitchen or bath?"

"I don't care, let's just get it over with."

The redhead quickly gathered the supplies and led way to the bathe. The heiress sat down on top of the toilet as the younger woman set up on the sink. Claudia turned on the water and rather reluctantly, Myka stuck her head under the faucet to wet her hair. When she came back up, the redhead draped a towel around her neck to keep her shoulders from getting wet. As the redhead patted her hair dry, from the other room rang the darker woman's voice.

"Careful darling, be sure to burn them afterwards."

"OK." Claudia called back.

From her seat on the toilet, Myka watched as the redhead picked up the comb. The heiress grimaced as the redhead drew her hair over her shoulders and began running the comb through the dampened strands. Though the redhead was gentle, actually more so than her usual hairdresser, Myka silently cursed her inside of her mind with each stroke.

Once the curls were tamed to something passing for straightened, the redhead softly spoke.

"So do you have a specific length you just won't do?"

"What would I tell you that for?" the heiress moodily grumbled, "That just means you'll hack it all off on purpose and leave me bald."

At this the raking feel of the comb stopped, and the redhead tilted Myka's face towards her own so that their eyes met. The younger woman's eyes weren't nearly as intense as her darker accomplice, but they still held a chilling presence. Myka couldn't phantom what someone her age could've endured to hold such an appeal.

"You know, I could play the "good guy" card a lot more often if you would just give me a chance."

There was a tinge of hurt in the younger girls voice that caught the heiress by surprise. Now that she thought of it, apart from the abuse she had received from the redhead during the actual kidnapping- the younger woman attended to her needs more often and more willingly than her darker accomplice. Though the darker woman was more charming, Myka had noted that she tended to detach herself from any serious interaction with her. Almost as if she was avoiding her sometimes. Feeling guilty and slightly ashamed, Myka's face colored and her jaw clenched in silence.

Sighing, Claudia released her hold allowing the heiress to face forward again. At the clinking sound of the scissors being removed from the sink, Myka squeezed her eyes tight as she waited for the worst to be over.

A ticklish feeling ran over her neck as strands of her hair fell with each snip. From the occasionally humming noises of the redhead, Myka could just imagine the determined look on her face as she snipped her hair shorter and shorter.

"There."

Hands pressed onto her shoulders and turned her towards the mirror over the sink. Slowly, the heiress opened her eyes to her reflection. Both heiress and captor gasped at the image.

"Whoa!" The redhead exclaimed. Her chin wrinkled in thought as she viewed Myka's reflection over her shoulder.

"You kind of got this French actress, what's her name? Marion something? Look kind of going on. It's actually not that bad."

On the other hand Myka was speechless for an entirely different reason. Never had her hair been this short in her life. Her hair was chin length in a bob. It was a slightly longer and curly version of the same haircut the redhead was sporting. Though she hated to admit, the style bought out the shape of her face in a way that was classically elegant. Minus the horrible blue extensions, she could already imagine herself in a little black dress sipping wine at a candlelit dinner.

"Here, put these in."

The redhead passed her a container with contact lens. After opening the packet, Myka realized they were dark brown. At the expression that formed on her face, the redhead coaxed her along.

"Did you know green eyes are considered genetically rare? Those peepers alone will cause suspicion."

After placing the contacts in, Myka blinked a few times to allow her eyes to get a feel for them. She dropped her hands from her eyes and turned to face the redhead. The younger woman nodded her head in approval then cracked the door open.

"HG!" Claudia called out to the other captor.

In that instance a sudden nervousness shot through the heiress' body. It was strange, but just the mere thought of displaying her new appearance to the darker woman was absolutely mortifying. The feeling reminded her of a time long gone when she would try to impress her friends or catch the attention of a crush. Back to when she was an awkward and uncertain teenager still finding her way.

When there was no response, the redhead stuck her head out the door for a few moments then popped back in. She gave Myka a strange quirk of the brow then jerked her head towards the door.

"Let's go show her."

Lips sealed tight and hands stuck to her sides, the heiress stiffly followed the redhead back to the living room. HG was hunched over a sheet of schematics with her hand cupped under her chin and her brows furrowed as she furiously scratched out some notes. On the computer before her, the screen was showing a series of numbers that very well could've been a screenshot from the movie The Matrix.

Sensing their appearance, the Brit raised her head to cast a glance.

What at first would've been a quick pause, turned into her giving Myka a full on double take. From the way her writing hand froze and the stunned expression grew in her eyes, the heiress wasn't sure it was a good or bad reaction. Either way, with those dark eyes fixated on her form, the heiress felt as if she were nude under a microscope.

A smile curled at the corner of her lips as she finally found her words, "Oh dear, it certainly looks like she's turned you into a mini Claudia."

There was humor in her voice that the heiress did not find funny at all.

At her accomplice's reaction, the redhead snickered. Though she was sure it was harmless, this rendered the heiress from feeling awkward to more than a little annoyed. If their goal was to make her feel uncomfortable, it was more than achieved with flying colors.

"If you would be so kind darling, we're to move onto the next part of the plan." HG gathered her notes into a neat pile and closed off the laptop.

Casting Myka a quick glance, Claudia joined her accomplice at the back wall of the room. Together they dropped to their knees and began to roll up the plastic covering the floor as if they were removing carpet. At the look on the heiress' face, the darker woman provided explanation.

"DNA. Everyone sheds. If things don't go according to plan, this gives us more time if, hypothetically speaking, detectives discover this as a point of interest."

Once the plastic was folded, it along with the makeover supplies was all shoved into the super powered incinerator. Upon finishing, the redhead placed her hands on her hips and looked over the room with a slight air of nostalgia.

"Aww man, and it was just getting comfy." Claudia said.

From the sidelines, Myka watched as the redhead opened a box of contractor bags and fished a spray bottle from out of a cabinet. After spraying the nifty incinerator with a strange cooling substance, the redhead went about dismantling the device. Across from her, the darker woman loaded and locked her gun into a thick case which she stuck into a briefcase.

"Now that we've had a visitor, something tells me this may require a more offensive approach. Instead of waiting it out, we're moving forward."

Handing the case and unlocking the door, HG placed her hand onto the door knob and met the heiress' eyes sideways.

"Now for the ultimate test,"

The door flung open and HG stepped out into the hall. Mouth tight, the heiress followed her two captors into the darkened hall that gave way to an elevator. Pressing into the small cubicle space, she locked eyes with the darker woman. The glint in the other woman's eyes was more excited than nervous. As strange as it seemed, the image was reassuring to the heiress, whom herself, felt as if she was going to be sick.

As soon as the elevator's doors slid open, HG swiftly led the way across the lobby through the exit with Claudia and the heiress following her like ducks in a row.

The moment the heiress' face hit the air and her foot met pavement, she paused and her eyes fluttered shut. Just to feel the air on her face, hear the sound of the city, and have the sun shine down on her- it was absolutely euphoric. Though it was only two days and in her case, the captors somewhat humane, being held against her will was the most terrifying experience she ever encountered. She could only phantom the horrors that other less fortunate kidnap victims underwent at the hands of lesser perpetrators.

Mentally, the heiress raised her hands to the heavens and thanked Jesus, Messiah, The Buddha, Shiva and all those others in between for still being alive.

When Myka reopened her eyes it was to discover the twosome gazing at her curiously. Claudia looked as if she was on pins, possibly waiting for her to burst into a scream of terror. But HG…The darker woman was giving her such a heated heavy lidded gaze, Myka had to still herself as her own pulse rocketed and entire face went flush. Confused, Myka embarrassedly averted her eyes to take in the rest of the street.

They were definitely in London.

It was a side of town she wasn't quite familiar with but from the hustle and bustle it was like every bit of the parts she had once visited. Smirking as she passed Myka on the right, HG stuck her hands into her pants pockets and led the way down the walk. She was over three feet away before the wary accomplice and heiress followed suit through the masses.

Heart in her throat, nerves on edge, Myka herself felt criminal as she continuously averted her gaze from each passerby's. Just ahead of her, the two captors had begun walking with such confidence, and HG's case, a slight swagger, it was almost comedic considering they were the wanted suspects holding her captive- not the other way around.

As the darker woman hailed a cab, the heiress pressed close to young accomplice. The younger woman quizzically raised her brows.

"Where are we going?"

Claudia glanced uncertainly towards her accomplice then back to the heiress.

"Uh…you'll see when we get there."

A black cab screeched to a halt before their feet and a middle-aged man poked his head out towards them. Not sparing a moment, HG opened the passenger door and stood off to the side allowing her accomplice and the heiress to enter first.

After packing away the suitcase into the back of the car, HG slid into place beside the heiress and leaned forward to hand some notes to the driver. Barely glancing in their direction, the man palmed the notes and shoved them into a box in between the seat.

"Think you can get us to the airport in thirty? We've got a eight-thirty flight and don't want to be late."

Bells went off inside of the heiress' head. Just how in the world were they going to get her out of the country? From the front seat, the driver snorted.

"Are you joking lady? I can get you there in time less than that even."

"Excellent."

Satisfied, the darker woman leaned back on the seat and took to gazing out the window. Just on the opposite side of the car, the redhead was wearing a bored expression as she fidgeted with an inactivated prepaid phone. The driver turned up the radio and began to sing along with the Top 40's as he veered in between lanes and blared the horn.

In the midst of this seemingly normal scene, a missing woman worth billions questioned her sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously want to rewrite this chapter. It bores me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Pete/Leena...oh and did I mention a visit from the Doctor? Not that Doctor. The other one. A little B/W teaser.

Snatch

The time was 7:48 in the evening.

While most people were relaxing at home around this time, Peter Lattimer was still hard at work. Mopping a towel across his brow, he had just finished tossing the dough for three dozen pizzas back to back.

Pete was tired.

Despite his goofy persona, Pete liked to set an example for his employees. On days when they were short staffed, he wasn't above playing delivery man for a day, and on days the chef called in sick- he just so happened knew how to make a damn good pizza. Today their seventeen year old delivery boy called in sick with the chicken pox. Considering the kid had a knack for using up his sick days with excuses, Pete almost told him no. But when he actually proved to be contagious….Well he gave him the next two weeks off.

Popping a slice of homemade pepperoni into his mouth (Spicy-Hot Lattimero's Specialty), Pete patted his coworker on the shoulder in passing then grabbed a coke from the fridge. Still dressed in his apron he took his drink, along with a bowl of assorted nuts, out to the front end of his family owned pizzeria, Lattimero's.

Lattimero's was famed for having a mom and pop atmosphere despite being an upcoming franchise. With its unique menu offering a blend of adult and children friendly meals, pleasant wait-staff, and most importantly, the separate world acclaimed sports bar- it was easily the perfect hang out for the entire family.

This particular Lattimero's was based in London.

"Looking good babe," Pete's wife Leena said as she gave him a quick peck on the lips. Smiling, she wiped a streak of flour from his face. "That's my hardworking man."

Pete chuckled and pulled her into a deeper kiss. "And that's my hardworking woman."

The sound of catcalls and whistles filled the room causing the couple to break apart from their kiss. Though his wife was now sporting a flush, Pete dismissively waved his hand at the customers.

"Awww, all of you just shut up!"

The patrons laughed at the Pizzeria owner. By now, most of the loyal customers were used to Pete and Leena's public displays of affection throughout the day. This is what also made the Lattimero's experience different, the dynamic of the couple.

Releasing his wife, Pete took a seat on a barstool and attempted to catch up on the football game playing on the screen. It was Chelsea VS Arsenal.

"So I've heard you've been busy today."

A pleasant voice steered his attention from the screen. Pete's face lit up at the sight of their family friend and one time worker, Dr. Steven Jenks.

"Whoa Doctor, what have we got to make you pay a housecall?"

"Harhar, very funny," Dr. Jenks sat down on the stool next to his friend, he raised his finger and the bartender gave him a beer. Taking a healthy gulp of his soda, Pete spun to give his full attention to the young doctor.

"So, how's the Grey's Anatomy?"

Dr. Jenks scratched his chin. "Not too bad. Today there weren't many patients. I got to see this one kid, he reminded me of you, he got a Lego stuck inside his ear."

Pete grinned, "Yep, that sounds about me. Did you get it out?"

"Of course. We had to put him under first though."

Pete popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth and turned his attention back to the screen. Just after Chelsea scored its first goal, the screen was interrupted by an emergency news brief. The entire bar groaned in disbelief.

"Just in, Billionaire Warren Bering has reported his daughter MISSING!"

The image on the screen turned to that of a well to do family standing outside a country club. On the stool beside Pete, one of the older gentlemen guffawed and voiced a slick rhyme,

"Little rich girl's don't go missin', she's just run off with a badboy and daddy's gone bitchin'."

There were a few murmurs of agreement. Across the screen the reporters face reappeared.

"The Berings are renowned for their oil and diamond mining facilities. Today, the 30 year old heiress, Myka Bering, was reported to have been abducted while clubbing in Paris."

Pete's vibes went off the charts.

"Hey, turn this up."

A few brows raised as the bartender turned up the report. Pete's eyes narrowed as he took in the screen. A photograph of a pretty curly haired brunette was shown. He had never seen the woman before in his life, but from the easy way she smiled- something told him if they were to ever have met she would've been a great friend.

The reporter's voice droned in the background as a photo spread of Myka Bering through the ages flickered across the screen. Beside him Jenks watched as his friends face grew dark.

"You knew her?"

Overhearing him, one of the waiters smirked as he cleared the counter, "Perhaps she ordered a pizza from here before."

"Please, a billionaire?" A waitress snorted. "More like she could've ordered 10 million pizzas from us if she wanted to."

Shaking his head at his employee's absurd comments, Pete lowered his voice to his friend and softly replied, "Vibing."

At that Jenks eyes widened. Something else that had drew him and the Lattimers together wasn't just their Midwest American origins, but actually something more profound.

Their psychic abilities.

Jenks was a human lie detector. He could read people and see the truth in their words as if he were a machine. Actually, he was better than any machine. Pete's wife Leena could read aura's. Though it sounds simple enough, this enabled her to literally know what someone needed or wanted before they opened their mouths. As for Pete, he was known for his "vibes".

Most times, Pete Lattimer knew the outcome of a situation simply based on how good or bad the feeling, or as he called it, the "vibe" felt. This special talent was not just great for simple everyday usage, time and again Pete has used it as his "cheat sheet" for the ever flourishing business. Thus far, it's been a foolproof method for leading the direction of the award winning company.

"Good or bad?" Jenks asked.

Pete didn't answer, his eyes were still fixated on the news report.

"Myka Bering was last seen clubbing in Paris. Officials said they discovered her car hijacked yesterday morning. Forces are marking her disappearance on high alert as some detectives are suspecting foul play."

"Whoa!" Pete exclaimed as his face paled severely. All eyes drew to the restaurateur in curiosity. Oblivious to the crowd, Pete continued to speak, his voice shaken.

"Jenksy, look at my hands."

Jenks looked down and his pale eyes widened. His ex-bosses hands were shaking violent and uncontrollably.

"I've never had a vibe this cuckoo before." Pete continued as he flexed his fingers. "It's so strong, and so weird, it's like—

Pete cut off.

"Leena!"

The restaurateur sprang to his feet and raced towards the direction of the kitchens. Leaving his beer behind, Jenks followed in his friend's wake. Entering the double doors just behind Pete, Jenks witnessed as his old boss grabbed his wife from behind and began to call her out in a childlike manner.

"Leena, honey, look! Look!"

Startled the curly haired woman spun around to met his eyes. Her own light brown eyes were wide as she searched his face.

"Pete, what's wrong? I can't read you, your aura's all over the place!"

Pete took gulping breaths to calm himself, "I just got a very, very, freaky weird vibe."

Dropping the phone she was holding, Leena gave him her undivided attention. "About what?"

Jenks spoke up from behind the couple, "A heiress has been reported missing, possibly kidnapped. It's all over the news."

"That serious?" Leena's brows furrowed as she shifted between the two men. Pete was still taking deep breaths, his face twisted into a grimace.

"They interrupted Chelsea VS Arsenal."

"That's serious."

At this, Pete looked about the kitchen as if he was missing something. Touching his hand to his apron pockets, he pointed at his wife. "Do you have the pouch from this morning's deliveries?"

"Yeah, it's in the safety box with the tips."

"Ok, I'ma need your hands to open it please. I really, really, need to see something."

Giving her husband one last worried glance, Leena quickly led the way to the office. After unlocking the safe with a key, she handed Pete the pouch they used to collect cash delivery payments. As he opened the pouch, Leena switched on the office television and turned to the news. The "Breaking News" header was still running across the channel along with some camera footage of some police officers examining a crime scene. Leena drew a hand to her mouth as she watched.

"The weirdest thing happened today, I don't know how I even forgot to tell you about it."

The brown woman turned as Pete's voice drew her attention back towards him. Pete had retrieved the bills and some change. "I had a delivery in London, this redhead girl was acting funny and when she gave me her change- she dropped this."

Pete handed his wife a shiny tooled ring. On the very center of the ring was an emblem letter "B" marked in the middle of a Celtic crest. The way it was fashioned, it could've easily been used to seal wax on an envelope. Leena didn't know what it meant, but from her husband's excitement, it must've been important. She handed the ring off to Jenks for him to examine it.

"There was this woman screaming in the background, and get this- when I asked her about it, she swore it was her porn!"

Pete jabbed his finger in the air and spun towards them, there was an insane grin plastered on his face. Both Leena and Jenks blankly stared at him.

"And why am I the only one thinking that's funny?" Pete's face grew sheepish as the grin fell. His eyes happen to gaze over to the TV and what he saw in that split second gave his body a jolting vibe. With a childlike yelp, the manchild directed his finger to the screen.

"Look, there it is!"

On the screen a reporter was stationed outside the billionaire's corporate headquarters, Bering and Sons. There was no mistaking it, the letter "B" in the company's header was exactly the same as the letter etched on the ring.

Slowly turning back to her husband, Leena bit her lip in pause. "You say you got a vibe?"

"A crazy monkey freaky vibe." Pete gestured with his hands. "It was the weirdest vibe I've ever had in my entire life."

Looking towards the news report, then back to the ring in her hand, Leena Lattimer slowly shook her head.

"This doesn't sound good babe, not good at all."

The heiress thought her captors had balls of steel.

They were in the back of a taxi, the three of them, with the driver singing along with the blaring radio. Twice since they had been in the car, the news report of the MISSING Heiress had come on during the commercial break - twice. Not once did the driver realize that the woman was literally seated less than a foot away.

Sandwiched in-between her two captors, Myka kept stealing glances of herself through the rearview mirror. Her own brain was whirring on overdrive as she spent majority of the ride trying to make logic of the peculiar situation. As strange as it may seem, it wasn't the soundness of her captors that she found herself questioning, but instead that of society. It was disconcerting to know her captors literally kidnapped her in full public view and nobody thought it strange or noticed.

Was society really that deaf to their surroundings?

Frustration boiled inside of the heiress' blood as she reverted back to the night of her kidnapping, then to her first moments of freedom from the hideout. Nobody, not one single person, noticed. And if they did, nobody seemed to care. With all the news reports there was no doubt that all of society knew exactly what she looked like. Hell, by now absolute strangers should be able to pick her out of a crowd, probably faster than her own mother. There weren't that many Myka Bering's in the world.

As if she sensed the heiress' brooding, Claudia gently nudged her in the arm with her elbow distracting her.

"Come on, it's time to go."

The heiress raised her head and discovered the cab had long stopped in front of an airport. On her right, HG had already climbed out the car and was removing a suitcase from the trunk. Myka's eyes went to the rearview mirror. The driver was eyeing her intensely.

For a moment her heart skipped a beat as she thought he had recognized her, that was until he pointed towards a clock on the dashboard. There was a little sign on top of the clock that said, 'OVERTIME PAYMENTS'. Not having a dime on her person, Myka apologetically waved her hands and quickly clambered out the car.

"I booked our tickets under an alias, we have a little time to kill until then." Claudia murmured in her ear as she drew her closer to her. "You don't do anything stupid."

The redhead released her and made way over to a kiosk to gather their tickets. As the heiress began to feel confused by the sudden freedom, HG linked their arms throwing the other woman off balance. Myka turned to meet her gaze.

"Come." The darker woman murmured as she gave her a sly wink.

Yielding, Myka allowed herself to be led away from the waiting area and through the double doors outside. There were a few tourist shops along the area and the airport just so happened to overlook a canal. Some couples were taking pictures of the scenery or waving goodbye to their loved ones as they entered the station.

From the outside looking in, it probably would've appeared they were a couple sightseeing and taking a stroll.

HG led the heiress to a banister overlooking a canal and leaned against it. Myka mirrored the motion and peered below. Just under their feet, the water was murky green color but it was still beautiful. The wind blew her hair into her face she wiped it behind a spot ear, in doing so she was once again surprised by its shortness. Turning to Myka, HG placed her hand on top of hers and pulled it closer onto her side of the railing.

Their fingers entwined.

It was an innocent motion, but the implications were intimate. Myka found herself uncertain as she gazed into the dark eyes of her captor. The darker woman broke contact and looked out to the water.

"Are you certain this is what you want to do?"

This question took Myka aback.

It was only a few hours ago that she had made the conscious decision to join her two captors in their cause. It may seem strange, especially considering the way they kidnapped her to begin with, but in a warped way she quickly went from seeing them as villainesses to viewing them as a type of renegade whistleblowers.

"Yes, I want to do this, I'm absolutely positive."

At this HG faced her with a quirked brow, shades of amusement played about her lips. "You're not just saying this because you're a little bored and want to give the "rebel" lifestyle a spin?"

"Of course not!" Myka balked. "I want to help because it's right. If I can fix anything, any of the wrongs that have happened to anyone, I want to do this."

HG released her hand and took to squeezing the banister with both of her own. "You know, just because you fix it, it doesn't mean it'll be any better."

Her words dropped off into a whisper as a flock of birds flew over head blackening out the sun for a few seconds. Myka folded her arms and drew closer to the darker woman. HG continued to stare ahead as she spoke. Though the heiress could only see her captor's profile, the level of pain on her face was more than evident.

"It will always hurt. People died Myka, they were killed. Nothing you can do will ever change the pain that those victim's families went through."

The darker woman's cryptic words from earlier ran through Myka's head.

I did die.

Once again, Myka felt a wash of sympathy towards the other woman. It may be a leap for her to assume, but the darker womans level of pain seemed to stem deeper than the little information she had shared with her in the loft. Something else happened to her, something far worse than anything Myka could possibly ever imagine.

Why does it even matter? The heiress questioned herself. And why does she keep getting under my skin like this?

Myka deeply exhaled.

"I understand that. It's just… I don't want to be like that. My name has always preceded me. I'm used to people expecting a certain standard from my family whether or not I like it."

The heiress followed her captives gaze out onto the canal as she spoke.

"To think something like this was done, what if people think I'm capable of being like that?"

HG dropped her hands from the banister and in a fluid motion, swept towards the heiress. The darker woman folded her arms and stepped into the heiress' personal space forcing the other woman to meet her eyes. Myka's contact brown eyes were watered.

"You think too much."

The simple statement caused the heiress to sputter in disbelief, "W-what?"

Her eyelids fluttering slightly, HG took a step backwards onto the banister. She lazily hung a hand over the edge as if she was trying to touch the surface of the water.

"People aren't as clever or charitable as they pretend to be Bering. In fact, most people don't give a damn at all."

HG held her palm out and gestured to the entire strip. "Like all of this, I snatched you in public and here we are walking about in broad daylight. Why doesn't anybody call the bloody cops?" She gave her a pointed look.

"Your picture is all over the news, on the internet. Yes, Claudia gave you a makeover- but you still look similar enough to rouse suspicion."

Myka opened her mouth to disagree, but nothing came out. The darker woman had already confirmed her worst fears. Satisfied, HG pressed on, her own voice laced with its own brand of cynicism and arrogance.

"You're thinking too much and being too hard on yourself for all the wrong reasons. If you had pulled the trigger, well certainly you are a monster, but you didn't. Nor were you the one to mastermind the plots. You are innocent."

"I can't just detach myself like that." Myka's brows furrowed. "It's not easy for me to be like that."

"Very well then Bering."

After a few seconds passed, Myka felt the bore of the other woman's penetrating gaze as she read the side of her face intently. Once she turned, the heiress was met with a bone chilling smirk. Dark eyes never once leaving her own, HG began to speak in a low tone.

"Do you think I'm a monster?"

At these words, the heiress' mouth flopped open, her tongue was ensnared. HG took an aggressive step forward causing Myka to stumble backwards. It was dizzying how fast the other woman could go from friendly associate to absolute psychopath.

"I pulled a gun on you and I scared you in the apartment," HG took another step, Myka unintentionally backpedaled.

"Claudia and I both abused you and ignored you for hours,"

Myka's last step ended at the feel of metal sharply pressed into her back. Barely an inch between the both of them, the heiress was left staring into those pools of black she continuously found herself both frightened and intrigued by. The fragrance of the darker woman's perfume curled into her nose and acted as fuel to her already quickened pulse. Frightened eyes shifted over her shoulder to what churned below. Myka was well aware, one more step and she would certainly flip over the banister.

The darker woman leaned into the heiress, she wore a devil's smirk as she ever so softly husked into her ear, "And here we are right now, with you terribly afraid I'll tip you over the banister."

There was a slight growl in the other woman's voice was that was threatening, yet all the same unapologetically arousing, it caused Myka's mouth to go dry. That the darker woman read her mind once again baffled the heiress. A breeze swept over them and sent their hair flying in a tangle. HG rolled her shoulders and threw a glance over toward the airport.

"It's chilly. Let's go back inside."

The darker woman took Myka's arm and swiftly led the way back into the airport. Too stunned by the other woman's mercurial tendencies, Myka followed her somehow managing to keep pace.

Shortly after entering the airport, Claudia rounded on them and handed HG a pair of tickets.

"Bout time, I thought I was gonna have to look for you kiddos," the redhead gave them a strange searching once over before pressing on. "Three tickets to the Big Apple, nonstop."

Shifting towards Myka, the redhead raised a brow. "And nope they're not cushy first class seats, so you can dream on Princess Barbie."

The heiress paid no heed to the comment as her eyes were trained on HG. The dark woman had removed, three, not two, passports from out of a pocket inside of her jacket and handed them to customs. If that image wasn't the telling, the heiress didn't know what.

"You knew!" Myka hissed.

Mindlessly accepting the passports, the darker woman took Myka's arm as before. The motion was so natural, neither woman noticed as they walked in sync to the plane.

"Knew what darling?"

It was a term of endearment reserved for Claudia. Not a hostage. Furious, Myka bit down on her lips and tried to save her rage till they were seated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE Pete/Leena. It sucks that isn't real for the show but at least we have shippers.
> 
> ALSO, Never been to London, did minor research, DON'T quote me on an airport over canal bit, I made it up for the scene. If it's real- that's awesome. If it's not...Please don't flame me!
> 
> MUCH THANKS TO REVIEWERS/FOLLOWERS! I really appreciated the notes of concern, things are going much better with the life issues. Thanks!
> 
> ALL MISTAKES ARE MINE. DON'T OWN, DON'T SUE!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An airplane. Something happens to HG. More Jay-z and Beyonce' on the Run.

"We're not sitting together?"

The heiress' brows furrowed as she followed the younger woman's path to the other side of the plane. The redhead had broken away from their group and was heading towards a direction on the far right. Without so much as batting a lash in her direction, HG replied.

"We are, she's not."

"Why?"

The question was ignored as Myka was pulled to a set of seats on the far left. In the row with their seats, there was already a man situated by the window. He was typing furiously on a laptop. At their appearance, he glanced up from the screen. His eyes narrowed as they suspiciously roved over the two women.

"Looks like we'll be sharing this row, kind Sir," HG laid on her charm by flashing a glorious smile. Giving them a quick nod in greeting, the gentleman lowered his head back to the screen.

The darker woman stood aside allowing the heiress to sit as she herself hoisted the mysterious briefcase into the overhanging rack. After completing this task, the darker woman settled down with her jacket neatly folded over her lap. The heiress watched her captor out of the corner of her eyes. HG had closed her eyes and bridged her fingers. The pose looked meditative.

On the intercom the takeoff was announced by the pilot, as the stewardess walked the rows ensuring everyone was properly adjusted. After the overly smiley woman passed their row, Myka turned to the still posed captor. This time the other woman's brows were pinched and she appeared to be holding her breath.

"Nervous?"

Without cracking an eye, the darker woman replied.

"Not necessarily."

As before, the line was strangely annoying to the heiress. Huffing, the heiress pressed back in her seat with her arms crossed.

"I hate when you say that."

Eyes still closed, the darker woman calmly smirked, "I know you do."

This bought a faint blush onto the heiress' face.

Twenty minutes into the flight, the heiress began to feel most uncomfortable. Her limbs felt cramped in the chair, despite having a decent amount of room, and the cushions were too stiff. She attributed the discomfort to the fact that she normally preferred the window seat on planes. Occasionally she suffered slight claustrophobia, being able to see outside calmed her nerves.

In the least possible rude way, Myka craned her neck over her neighbor's shoulder to peer outside the window. Though the sun was long gone, the horizon still glowed with a few lingering rays. The vague streaks of reddish orange and deep purple tangled across the sky in the form of a shimmering aurora. It had been a while since she last travelled this high, she had truly forgotten the beauty of the world viewed from above. To relish more of the sight, Myka leaned in a little closer.

After a minute or so, the sound of keys had long stopped clacking and the heiress began to feel a prickly sensation along her neck. Almost as if she were being watched. Sense's withdrawing from the outside, Myka looked downwards and directly into the daggering ears of a very angry passenger. The gentleman was holding his laptop clamped to his person and his mouth pressed into a hard line. Apparently he thought she was reading over his shoulder.

"Sorry." She murmured.

The heiress leaned back into her chair and tried to focus on something else. She folded and unfolded her hands. Then shuffled and outstretched her feet. To quench her boredom, she allowed her mind to drift onto the woman seated next to her and…Very quickly just thinking about her wasn't enough.

Myka turned her head sideways and peeked at the darker woman through half lids. Though HG appeared to be sleeping, Myka had suspicions that she was wide awake.

"So…." The heiress began then stopped.

She expectantly twisted towards the other woman as if waiting for her to complete the sentence. A few seconds passed, just enough to make Myka reconsider, and then there was the sound of the pleasant British lithe as the darker woman softly responded.

"You don't do quiet well."

A smile rounded across the heiress' features as she swiveled around in her seat to face the darker woman full on.

"Actually I do, it's just this flight is long and boring and there's just nothing to do and—

Gently sighing, the darker woman cut her off. "Well, watch TV."

Myka grimaced as her eyes shifted to the screen at the front of the plane. On the screen an animation was playing. She was not a cartoon fan.

"That's not my thing."

The darker woman stretched out her feet and leaned back into the seat.

"Go to sleep. Read a book."

"I don't' have a book!"

The heiress punctuated this statement by jabbing her fist down onto her knees like a petulant child. Dark eyes cracked open and lazily shifted to the heiress. Without another word, the woman leaned and pulled a tome seemingly from thin air and plopped it into Myka's lap. The heiress caught the book and ran a palm over the cover. All of the color drained from her face and her hands began to tremble.

"This book…uh, where did you get this book?"

Eyes back to being closed, the darker woman was unaware of the sudden shift in the captive's demeanor.

"It's mine. And it's been mine for quite some time," HG coolly replied.

Myka flipped the cover and saw it was signed and dated, the year being three years prior. Beside her the darker woman sat up and peered over her shoulder. The heiress could feel the other woman's heat as her soft breaths tickled the skin on her neck.

"It was also a gift, which rarely - I just so happen to like." she was so close, Myka could practically feel the corners of her captor's lips curl at the mention. The smile was short lived as HG's tone abruptly switched to abrasive.

"Don't ruin it."

Flushing, the heiress sunk downwards in her seat. She propped the book open to hide her embarrassment, but all the while instead of focusing on the words on the page, her eyes were on the dark captor.

Ok, so we happen to have the same taste in books. It's not that strange.

Myka shook her thoughts from her head and took to reading the book for real.

Time quickly passed into an hour later in which the heiress was still absorbed into the pages. She was just about to begin a new chapter when beside her HG shifted and interrupted her flow. The heiress raised her eyes in time to see the darker woman stand up. HG's hand was cupped to her nose and her head was slightly tilted away. It looked as if she was trying to hide something on her face. When she locked eyes with Myka, HG spoke in a clear crisp tone.

"Stay here."

The heiress shrugged her shoulders and returned to the book. A few minutes later and a stewardess passed down the rows with a cart.

"Would you like some refreshments?"

The man by the window side raised his hand and the stewardess passed him a water bottle and some peanuts. Myka took two waters, one for herself and the other for her captor. She stuck the bottles into the holders and returned to the book.

After completing yet another chapter, Myka's eyes went over to the chair next to her. To her surprise, the darker woman had not returned. For some odd reason, this led the heiress to begin to feel extremely panicked. To hold her place, Myka folded the corner of the page then sat the book onto her seat. Frowning, she stood up and marked her way down the aisle in an attempt to spy her captors.

Some feet on the far right, she spotted Claudia sitting on an end seat chatting amiably with a group of teenage boys. She couldn't hear a word the redhead was saying, but whatever it was the boys were wearing beyond impressed expressions. Shaking her head, Myka edged her way to the back of the plane to the toilets. There were two stalls, both were unmarked for gender but from the sign on the locks- both were occupied.

Maybe HG was sick?

Myka's mind reverted to when she last saw HG's face moments before entering the plane. She did look a bit pale when they sat down. And when she seemingly thought Myka wasn't looking, she kept scowling as if in pain. Swallowing, Myka rapped her knuckles against the stall on the left. Pressing her ear slightly to the surface, she spoke through the door.

"Um, HG? Are you in there?"

No response.

She rapped again.

There was a few more seconds then an audible flush followed by the sound of the sink faucet running. Myka lowered her hand just in time as the door popped open. A tall attractive man with broad shoulders and tanned skin appeared. From the look on his chiseled face, he was pleasantly surprised to see her. Myka flushed and hurriedly stepped backwards away from the door.

"Uh, so sorry, I was just looking f-for someone else."

Her words apparently lost as instead of replying or even moving away, the stranger broke into a smile. His teeth were perfect, shiny white and straight, and the crinkle reached his eyes in just the right way giving his turquoise eyes a twinkle. Myka felt herself go weak in the knees as her eyes unconsciously dropped down to the rest of his body. He had a lean muscular build and clothed in form fitting v-neck with black slacks and oxfords. By the time she made it back to the top, she saw he was appraising her as well, but from the dilation of his clear blue eyes- he liked every bit of what he saw.

The Adonis took a step forward and Myka a hesitant step back.

This was not the time nor place for seeking potential dates.

Myka internally chided herself. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to clear up the growing pause.

"Um, you know? They must've been in the cabin, I should go look there and check. Or you know what, the stewardess station. She came by our row earlier and…"

The more Myka rambled, the bigger the stranger's smile grew. It wasn't unpleasant but it was slightly unnerving. She went from wondering whether the guy was just a random interested stranger to thinking he just may recognize her from the MISSING post. A hand went directly to her hair and her face took on a flush. From the outside looking in, the pose appeared more flirtatious than nervous.

Thinking he had scored, the Adonis took an invasive step forward. When he spoke, she realized he was American.

"What side are you on?" he looked out across the aisles, "I could help you find them, what did they look like?"

Oh… god please don't!

Myka cringed and simultaneously released a pent breath. "No! I mean, I'm fine, thanks, but it's really unnecessary, they're probably seated by now."

"Are you sure?"

Her captors never touched the subject of what-if she was recognized, let alone approached by an overly chivalrous man. Pretending to be someone else was quickly becoming stressful. Myka already turned sideways to began walking back to their seats when the stall mirroring them snapped open. Both of their attentions drew to the door.

Two pairs of brows soared at the appearance of the very pale yet very dark, HG. The darker woman's eyes narrowed at the sight of Myka and the man- whom was standing to close for comfort, in her opinion- and giving the handsome stranger the rebuff, her heated gaze locked onto the heiress.

Those coals of intensity never burned as bright as they did in that instance. Myka feared she could've literally caught fire from the gaze.

"What are you doing back here?"

To check on you, my dear kidnapper.

Now that she was faced with the other woman the answer sounded so ludicrous, she felt embarrassed to even speak it. As she tried to come up with a reason other than the truth, her eyes slid to the strangers, flashed, then darted back to HG. Gazing into those orbs of black, she felt as if she were a rabbit pinned by a wolf.

"I… um, uh..." Myka sputtered.

Behind her, the man slowly began to edge away towards his seat. From the deflated expression on his face, he looked like the little boy who missed out on the ice-cream truck. In a sense, he did. Though he found Myka unbelievably attractive, he didn't like the tone of that darker woman's voice. If he didn't know any better, from the sound of it the two women had ties. Romantic ties.

"Never mind."

The darker woman's face twitched she pushed past Myka and went back to their seats. Myka sheepishly followed her.

After taking her seat, the heiress couldn't help but examine the darker woman out the corner of her eye. She still looked pale.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine." Though this was said sharply, Myka noted an edge of tiredness in the phrase. Blocking out the heiress' worried face, HG opened a pocket watch to check the time.

"How much longer?" Myka asked.

"About four hours."

Concluding this terse exchange, HG drew her jacket over her shoulders like a blanket and closed her eyes. Myka reopened her book and sighed. After a half hour or so of more reading (only to calm her nerves) the heiress dropped off herself. She fell into a sleep so dreamless, it more or less a coma filled with white clouds.

The turbulence that rocked the plane sideways jerked the heiress awake. Her eyes fluttered open to the back of a seat, the scent of perfume in her nose, delicate yet distinct, plus something that smelled metallic but not unpleasant. Her head was resting on something soft yet firm, bony so to speak. She awkwardly rolled her head to discover she was lying with her head in the crook of her captor's neck.

God, how embarrassing!

The heiress sat upright and glanced about. She couldn't understand how she forgot she was on a plane, let alone whom she was on one with. Their window seated neighbor had drawn the blinds and was sleeping with a blanket under his neck. His laptop possessively clutched in his hands. If she stood up halfway from her seat and peered along the far right side, she could make out just barely- the red haired accomplice. Along with this were the other cat-nappers and quiet chatters throughout the rows.

The plane tremor once again and she fell backwards into her chair with a slight thud. She winced on impact as she worried interrupting her seat mates. Neither of the bodies stirred.

Myka pressed a hand to her mouth and was relieved by the absence of drool. She then gave a quick puff in her palm to check her breathe. She needed a mint. Badly. Moving about her seat she searched the collection of goodies the stewardess had bought them. As luck would have it, there was a packet of chocolate covered mints stuck in the seat holder. It wasn't exactly what she was looking for but it was close enough.

Shifting once again, she made out what time it must've been through a crack in blinds. From all that she made out it looked to be the beginnings of dawn. She surmised that they had at least an hour or two left. She would've enjoyed resting the last hours, especially under the company of public eyewitnesses, but she was no longer sleepy. Taking up where she had left off, Myka reopened her book and sighed. She could at least read the rest of the novel.

Quite some time had passed when HG shift in the chair beside her. The heiress peeped sideways to discover the darker woman sprawled in the chair with her jacket forgotten on her knees. It was a carefree and comfortable pose that did not match its wearer one bit.

The heiress would've liked to say it was pleasant being able to gawk at her captor unattended, but it was quite the contrary. The darker woman did not look one bit peaceful in her rest. Her brows were knitted and she looked furious. After a while, HG began to murmur something in her sleep. Intrigued, Myka promptly closed the book. Beside her the older man had closed his laptop and laidback with his head. Myka leaned over so she could hear what she was saying more clearly.

"Christina?"

The darker woman whispered this name ever so softly as she rolled her head to the opposite side. Myka's brows went high as her brain shifted into overdrive.

Who's that?

A family member?

A pet?

A lover?

A sudden surge of jealousy shot through the heiress chest. The feeling was so surprising it caused Myka to blink in shock. Instead of giving a moment to contemplate the reason for her hearts reaction, the heiress chose to focus on solving the riddle that was labeled ever so innocuously as Christina.

Myka set out with a few key goals: Who was she? Why was HG dreaming about her? And why was the darker woman so angry and intense all the time?

Sticking the book into a seat holder, the heiress turned so she was sideways in her chair. If HG was dreaming about her lover, it definitely was not a pleasant dream. From the crease in her brow and the way her eyes twitched, she appeared to be having a nightmare. Her limbs twitched as she seemed to be trying to grab onto something then suddenly, she jolted upright. Myka moved back just in time to avoid collision as HG jammed forward in her chair and her eyes snapped open.

"NO!"

The ferocity of her scream hushed the entire plane. Eyes that were sleeping fluttered wide in confusion, as those already awake swiveled their peepers to left. A stewardess just so happened to be making her way down the strip, she came over to HG's side and held out a hand to touch her shoulder but meeting the fury black orbs, pulled back with uncertainty. Instead she clasped her hands and gave the dark woman a look of mustered sympathy and concern.

"Are you OK Ma'am?"

The stewardess' voice quivered slightly as she spoke. Like everyone else in vicinity, she was deeply unnerved by the cry. That wasn't the sound of an everyday bad dream- that was the resonance of living unspeakable horrors.

The darker woman began, "I…"

HG cut off as she glanced about. Her eyes were glazed over and there was a soft sheen of sweat on her forehead. It seemed to take a moment to realize where she was. She blinked once at the sight of Myka beside her. The heiress pallor matched her wide terrified eyes. There were shades of pity peeking from underneath the contact brown lenses, caused the prideful captor's stomach to curdle with shame. Tearing away from the heiress, HG slowly turned her head back to the attendant.

"I had a nightmare."

The stewardess wasn't fazed by the claim but the reasoning supplied artificial relief. The tension relaxed from her shoulders as she gave HG a reassuring smile then offered her some refreshments. When the darker woman negatively replied, the stewardess flashed her one last smile and continued down the row. Onlookers by now returned to their own bubbles. Once the sound of conversation had returned, HG pressed back into the chair and folded her hands. The heiress couldn't help but note that they were shaking.

"All passengers remain seated, the flight is entering landing."

All around them there was the sound of belts buckling and sleepers rousing into motion. Despite going into the motions, there was a strange tension in their row that both captive and captor tried to ignore.

Now that Myka thought about it, not once did her captor sleep back at the hideout. She remembered the redhead dropping off right at the kitchen table as she worked on her computer. But not once did the darker woman close her eyes. She was either tinkering or downing cups of tea.

This did not sit well with the heiress.

As the plane came to a halt, the darker woman made a point of ignoring Myka as they filed off the plane by rows and walked across to the airport's entrance. The heiress herself pretended not to care as she focused on drawing in as many surrounding details as possible. Almost immediately, she noted that she had travelled this airport before, but it was in an entirely different caliber of class. Her eyes went to the doors and the people who entered them. The sight of expensive dress and ties made her feel off.

She was the outsider peering in.

At this an overwhelming feeling of daze seized Myka's body and rendered her immobile. HG gruffly looped their arms and partially dragged her over to the side of the bag retrieval. As if on cue, Claudia appeared and squeezed in-between the pair tossing her arms over their shoulders.

"That wasn't so bad guys." she quirked. Her voice was cheerful and a tad sleepy.

On the left of her, Myka pursed her lips whereas on HG didn't respond. Instead the darker woman switched to another subject.

"You didn't happen to already book the rental did you darling?"

Claudia's arms dropped away from their shoulders as she dug into her pocket to retrieve a printout.

"Um-hm, reds to go, we just need to pick up the key."

She handed HG the printout, which the darker woman merely glanced it over. HG pulled from Claudia's side and directed towards Myka.

"You stay here with her and I'll do it," HG paused taking in the facility. "If anything happens, and I mean anything, you stick with our plan."

The redhead nodded.

Not sparing another moment, HG hustled her way over to the rental section. As she watched the woman disappear, Myka turned to the redhead and directed a question to her.

"What's her problem?"

Claudia shook her shoulders. After watching Myka's curiosity morph into exasperation, the redhead went on to elaborate.

"She just gets like that sometimes. I would say that it's time of the month, but that'll just be an ongoing marathon event in her case."

The heiress guffawed at the younger captor's analysis. That sounded like the most liable description of the darker woman as of yet. Falling into step beside the younger girl, Myka allowed herself to be led over to a table outside a café' area and sat down. The seats were opposing and just so happened to be beside a panel of ultra reflective glass.

Now that Myka was viewing their reflection seated together. Strangely enough, they could've passed for a close older and little sister. The image made her want to laugh. She and her own sister Tracy never wore matching clothes or hair styles. In fact, she and Tracy could very well come from different planets. Through the glass she watched as Claudia fidgeted with some features on the disposable phone she had bought from a shop before they left London. The redhead looked like an everyday teenager, not a kidnapper.

Through the glass, Myka was first to sight a fast approaching elderly couple. Her eyes widened and the redhead, catching sight of both motions, seized and threw Myka a threatening glare. Myka's heart jumped in her chest as she herself awaited possible exposure.

The couple came to a stop directly in front of their table, the older woman's clear eyes raked over Myka familiarly as she kindly smiled.

"Hello, we were on the flight with you just a few seats across. We saw your friends' episode there on the plane and we wanted to meet her."

Her arm was linked with her husbands, he waved his hand and shook his head. He had the aura of a man who could tell a good war story. His craggy face was expressive and his brows just as silver as his hair.

"It's these damn airplanes, I haven't been able to ride one properly since 9/11."

The older woman rolled her eyes.

"No what Hank here means to say is, he hasn't been able to ride in a plane cause of his fear of heights- that's just happens to be an unfortunate event he uses to reason with emotion."

Her husband guffawed.

"And Charlotte here, loves to tell people that."

Both Myka and Claudia respectively wrinkled their noses at the couple's unique brand of camaraderie.

"Anyway, we just wanted to say God Bless to her," the older woman's eyes were soft and smiling, "That must've been some kind of fright for her to scream out like that. I hope she isn't embarrassed or anything- it happens to the best of us."

The couple gave friendly hand squeezes to the both of them then made their way back through the crowd. After they fully disappeared from sight, Claudia released her breathe.

"…And thus she lost one of her nine lives," she murmured.

Myka on the other hand was silent.

Her mind was at work and her eyes were far away as she gazed after the long gone couple. She silently pondered an unspoken question.

Would she have that one day?

The heiress was at that age where many women, if they weren't married or with children as of yet, became worried and took their futures a lot more serious. For the last four years she lived her life as a bachelorette. Not that she couldn't find a date, it's just she wasn't ready to trust herself to someone else. Someone else who wasn't well...him.

Inside her mind, Myka harrumphed.

Hell, she couldn't even bring herself to say his name still and that was four years in the past!

As usual, Claudia leaned over the table interrupting Myka's thought flow. This time around Myka was relieved for the girl's strange sense of timing. She rose to see curious hazel eyes locked onto her own.

"She had an incident on the plane?"

Myka looked down as she took a moment to gather herself, "Sort of, it was a nightmare. She woke up screaming."

When the heiress lifted her eyes, she saw that the younger woman's face was grim with genuine concern.

"Wow…."

Claudia's face had gone slack as she glanced about. If Myka didn't know better, she would've said the redhead looked a little scared.

"Did she say what it was about by any chance?"

The heiress shook her head, "No, she just kept muttering Christina and—

"Can you hold that thought for a second?" Claudia held up a finger. There was silence as the redhead's eyes widened at something she spied something just beyond Myka's back. She pointed directing the heiress' attention.

Myka turned around to see a flatscreen TV monitor hanging behind them. On it the news played, with her face pre-haircut was blown across the screen. Myka bucked her eyes and clasped her hands to her face, a squeak escaped from back of her throat. Unlike earlier, there was a line of script running just above her image, it said:

"Million Dollar Rewards GRANTED in exchange for tips involving Missing Heiress!"

This line coupled with a special 1-800 number to call and leave tips with the police.

Below the base of the monitor, several people were taking down the number and saving it to their phones or whatever they could write on. She even spied a haggard man, possibly homeless, despite just coming off a flight, scribbling the number on the back of a wrapper he dug out the trash. The heiress turned to face her younger captor. The redhead was eyeing the crowd below the monitor with nostril curled contempt.

"You know this may sound very cynical, and very HG-ish, but whereas you being missing was no biggie in the beginning- now that there's money involved, the wolves will come running."

With that being said, the redhead rolled her eyes exasperatedly and slumped down in her chair.

Just as the news segment cut to a commercial break, there was a flurry of motion in the airport which caused both heiress and captor to perk to attention. Several men and women in uniform were swiftly rushing through the people towards the area reserved for rentals. A few of them were talking into walkie-talkies. They weren't police officers, but they looked official enough to be them. The heiress raised a hand to block her face.

"Are those Marshals?" she murmured.

Claudia didn't reply as she had stood up and tried to take in the scene from a far. Myka ducked her head into her hood and tried to not look suspicious.

"What's happening?"

"I don't know."

The redhead wildly spun, her eyes were searching for the darker woman. It was over twenty minutes since they last saw her. Directing towards the heiress, Claudia's hazel eyes were sharply narrowed.

"Let's get out of here, now!"

Catching onto her tone, Myka drew the strings of her hood and followed the redhead towards the exit of the building. Claudia shoved the double doors open and charged blindly onto the sidewalk. She was walking swiftly and her face was blazing with fury.

"I hate when she does this!"

"Does what?" Myka asked. She squeezed closer to the redhead to avoid a trolley filled with luggage. Before answering, Claudia jerked around to glare at a passerby who rudely brushed against her shoulder. Returning forward, she hastily replied to Myka's question.

"Say she's about to do something and dips off somewhere."

"You think she left us?"

The redhead spun about, her fury forgotten behind an eye roll.

"Uh- duh! You obviously don't know the great HG Wells very much."

At those words, the heiress stilted to a halt. Her face morphed into a shock that very well could've been brought on by a bucket of ice water.

"Did you just say, H.G. Wells?"

Claudia froze and clasped both hands to her mouth. Her eyes went round as her face flushed with guilt. The look provoked Myka farther as she pulled a book from her jacket pocket and shook it under the redhead's nose.

"You mean the WELLS who wrote this book?"

"Uh- I..uh, I didn't say anything."

To avoid farther questioning, Claudia picked up her pace forcing Myka to dodge along in her wake. This only made the heiress more animated as she raised the book and waved it in the air.

"She said it was a gift!" Myka yelled.

This drew a few curious glances from onlookers. Claudia thumbed her nose as her pace decreased to avoid a stroller. She barely kept her eye on Myka, but it was no need, the heiress was hot on her heels still waving the book. Once Myka was beside her, she sighed and gave reason.

"Well she lied. She wrote it, years ago."

Myka opened the book flicking to the cover page, the looping signature and the dedication inscription was there. She could practically imagine the pompous woman's face as she signed her signature.

"Who the hell signs their own book?"

"That's not hers though. See—"

Slightly annoyed, the redhead grabbed the book and pointed to the page. Scrawled along the side was a note to someone, she read it aloud.

"To my darling Christina."

That only made things worse. Myka frowned and turned her furious eyes onto the younger woman, not only did she have anger in her veins now she had jealous curiosity.

"Who's that?"

Seeing the danger in the other woman's eyes, Claudia shook her head. The affect HG had on most people always baffled her. This was not something she was going to touch.

"It's not really my place to say and you're not even supposed to care anyway."

Before the heiress could admonish this, the redhead spun around and led the way across the street. She pulled to a stop under a bus shuttle and thrust the briefcase to the sulking heiress.

"Hold this."

The heiress took the bag as the younger woman dug out her cell phone. Pressing speed-dial, Claudia linked immediately to a number. She held the phone to her ear and waited, it rang continuously for over a minute until finally it was picked up.

"About time, HG, where the hell are you?"

The redhead's face reddened as she barked into the phone. There was a pause as on the other end as the darker woman responded. In an instant, the younger woman's face shifted from anger to pure shock.

"Oh… oh my god, what? You what?"

The look of shock only deepened as she listened to the voice on the other end. "That's really, really bad. Ok. I got it. Just…just hurry up, ok?"

Claudia hung up the cell phone and shoved it into her pockets.

"Un-frackin'-believable!" The redhead winced as she slapped her palm to her forehead. "Change of plans."

Claudia rounded onto the heiress with a sugary sweet smile on her face. "Myka do you happen to have any extra cash on you?"

"Of course not."

"Darn, we need to get you to the hotel ASAP."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on FF people had been mentioning the sexy times with Myka and HG…
> 
> Sorry, not gonna happen….YET.
> 
> Considering Myka's a kidnap victim, I don't want to rush the possibility of a romance. This is a confusing time for her, a scary time. Yes she finds logic with her captors to a certain degree, but for the most part she is still a BERING. Her name sake alone makes her the enemy. Heck, even the status of her bank account. So keep calm, and remember, this Myka is an Heiress. She's going to be a bit…different.
> 
> Maybe even a bit O.C.
> 
> Honestly, I do have one regret with this story and it was Chapter 5's turn out. That wasn't supposed to happen but it did. I'm still not liking it and I had to sit HG down and have a little chat with her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there's this joke about a detective and a ball-gag...

Sirens blared and lights flashed outside a five leveled building. Gawkers stood around gossiping as police officers and crime scene investigators canvassed the building and took notes from neighbors and passerby's.

On the inside of the buildings fifth floor, Pete Lattimer was standing in a darkened hallway with his back against the wall. A young female officer was standing on his left taking notes as the rest of the officers shuffled in and out of the flat across from them. They wouldn't let him enter the room.

"Come on, I swear I won't touch anything! Just let me have a look around and I'll tell you if I vibe or not." Pete said as he stuck his head inside of the doorway.

The gray haired Detective Wolcott frowned at the odd man. In times of desperation, the force was known to call on some particularly strange aids to help solve a case. This one in particular was one of the strangest. Apparently the famed pizzeria owner was supposed to be "psychic". He claimed he met one of the kidnappers firsthand and he even heard the victim screaming for help in this very apartment during a delivery. How did he know the screams were of the missing vic?

Easy.

The restaurateur claimed he got "vibes" about it when he was watching the Breaking News special that evening.

Detective Wolcott stuck a tooth pick into the side of his mouth and shook his head in disbelief. If it hadn't been for Frederic's recommendation, they probably would've never taken this lead on. As he considered sending the man downstairs to cool it in one of the patrol cars, at that very moment, Wolcott's partner, Detective Aarons took up the honors of removing the restaurateur from the doorway.

Using the bulk of his body, all six foot four and twenty stone worth, Detective Aaron's easily backed the psychic through the threshold.

"Sorry Mr. Lattimer, this is an investigation we can't have civilians contaminating any of the evidence."

Pete tossed his hands in the air. "Civilians? Oh, dude come on! I'm practically one of you guys- I just gave you a tip."

From the gleam in his eyes, the forty-two year old father of two did not take too kindly to being called, "dude".

Detective Wolcott turned his head from this spectacle to take in the rest of the apartment. It was a spacious loft, with officers milling about everywhere dusting for prints and searching cabinets and closets. Thus far, they've been sweeping the entire room for nearly two hours.

With his hands in his pockets, the Senior Detective made his way over to the kitchen side of the loft. The forensic specialists in that area were packing up their equipment. From the dour expressions on their faces things weren't going so good. Wolcott turned his attention to his longtime acquaintance, famed forensic examiner Dr. Helen Magnus.

The dark haired woman was renowned throughout Europe for being an "answer's man". Despite not being a detective herself, countless times her shrewd eye and quick wit had a major part to play in the solving of tough, and sometimes even cold, cases. Dr. Magnus didn't always perform onsite investigations but when she did, it was guaranteed that the case was something good.

At the questioning look on Detective Wolcott's face, Dr. Magnus folded her arms across her chest and shook her head.

"There's nothing in here Wally, not a print, not a strand of hair, it's like a Clean Room."

She nodded her head to the far side of the room, the spot where the bathroom and the closets were located.

"I have a few of the others working those areas. We're taking a sample of the toilet water- perhaps a little DNA's in there and the shower. Just to humor ourselves, I sent Richards to check the closet. Considering they were on the lam, I doubt they would've stored anything in there but you never know."

Just as she said that, a young man poked his head from out of the closet. He was wearing the full body coveralls like all of the other forensic workers but his mask was drawn over his head. His eyes were bright with excitement.

"Dr. Magnus? Detective Wolcott? You both should check this out."

Wolcott and Magnus exchanged glances and then together made their way across the room. Upon entrance of the closet, the young assistant pointed to the bottom corner of the closet shelf. At first glance it appeared to be nothing, but upon closer inspection, a rubber gag was spotted hanging sideways on the edge of the shelf. In the empty closet, it looked most out of place.

"Did you shoot it?" Wolcott asked.

The assistant nodded. "I took a shot from each angle. I didn't want to move it before showing it to you first."

"Good."

The detective dropped to a crouch and picked up the gag with a rubber gloved hand. He dangled the gag in his face and examined it all over. Behind him he felt as Dr. Magnus shifted and leaned in.

"They gagged her?" Dr. Magnus said. "We can have the lab run analysis on the saliva to see if it is a match. We need a swab from both of her parents first."

Wolcott stood up, his lips were pressed into a hard line. He seen too much in his line of work, the gag alone gave him too many possibilities, all of them unfortunately ending. The detective plopped the gag into an evidence bag, then handed it to the assistant. Both Magnus and her assistant went back over to the rest of the evidence pile. Magnus signaled for someone to dust the closet for fingerprints and hair samples and she herself pulled out a heavy duty forensics kit.

As he made his way back towards the front of the room, Detective Wolcott rubbed a hand to his stress knotted neck. That was one turn of events he was not expecting. His eyes sought out Detective Aarons and discovered him peering into the empty cabinets wearing a frown.

"Contact the Bering's lawyers," Wolcott directed him.

There was a pause as Wolcott removed the gloves from his hands and pulled out a cell phone. Detective Aarons watched and waited patiently for continued instructions. "I want to issue an alert along the continent's borders in case there's been a sighting. If this is where she was kept, they are long gone and just maybe, are looking to escape overseas."

Detective Wolcott crossed over to the window and peered outside.

Below were the masses of curious onlookers. Those few who weren't filming with their camera phones and awaiting gossip were walking past with their mouths ajar as they gazed above to the fifth floor. Though it was a harmless action, the nosiness of the behavior irritated the detective. It amazed him how intrusive society could be at times. Poking their noses into everyone's business but not offering a single word of intelligence or aid where it's needed. Detective Wolcott rolled the toothpick between his teeth and focused his attention away from the mock paparazzi.

To begin his deliberation, he checked off on his personal list of facts.

There were only two entrances to the building, through the front door and the back. The building was featured on a particular row where all of the dwellings were literally packed sardine tight beside each other. Behind the row, the alley was a narrow affair with barely room enough for disposal trucks.

That means they had to have entered via the front lobby.

Somber blue eyes scanned the streets for any clues. This side of town was always busy. It was a hub for businesses and students. All those bodies, all those pairs of eyes, and not one witnessed a kidnapped woman being taken into the building?

Just below the building, Wolcott spied the psychic and his wife. As he watched the couple interact, the detective traced his index finger along his jawline. The couple looked to be in a deep discussion. The psychic's wife- Leena was her name, he remembered- appeared to be trying to console the restaurateur as he sulked. Knowing his partner, Wolcott already had a theory as to what might've transpired between him and the unyielding restaurateur. He wouldn't have been shocked to learn that the ex-rugby player had picked Lattimer up by the scruff of his neck and carried him out the door. Despite the image in his mind, the senior detective refrained from chuckling; he had a puzzle to solve.

Considering the psychic claimed he heard screams and now the discovery of a gag, Myka Bering couldn't have been conscious during that period. The kidnappers probably tied her up and blindfolded her. Maybe they even wrapped her in a sheet or bag to pretend she was goods being carried up to the apartment.

How is it, that a full grown woman is kidnapped in plain sight and practically hidden in plain view?

This was a rare riddle that Detective Wolcott found most disturbing.

/

Forced off of the premises via Detective Aarons, Pete was outside leaning over the hood of his car. Beside him was his wife, she was holding a palm to his shoulder as she gently consoled him.

"Don't be too hard on yourself honey, you tried,"

Leena had seen from the looks on their faces (and auras) that neither of the Detectives believed her husband. Even with her auntie's reach, the professional men all but laughed in his face before agreeing to search the building. That was eight hours ago.

"But I wasn't fast enough!" Pete hung his head as he complained. "Why didn't I just do something when it first happened? I was right there, I heard her screams!"

He turned to his wife and repeated the phrase.

"I heard her screams Leena, she was begging for help and I just stood there holding the goddamn pizzas!"

Pete slid his hands over his face and pressed his palms into his eyes. The stress of the situation was radiating off of his body in the form of burnt red waves. Leena could see he truly felt guilty as pale green splotches were spreading across his aura.

"Do you think they've hurt her?"

Pete shook his head. After a moment he removed his hands from his eyes and looked at her. He was wearing a slightly perplexed expression.

"That's the funny part. This time I went there, I did get a vibe but it was different…" Pete's eyes drifted over the crowd. The flashing police lights painted his face a ghastly purple. "It was bad, but I don't think the vibe was necessarily for her."

Pete frowned.

"Something bad is going to happen, but it isn't gonna happen to her."

As he spoke, he raked his eyes over the building as if it were going to expose all of its secret right then and there.

"That's a good thing right?" Leena took on a wry smile. "That must mean the guys that kidnapped her will be caught by the police. Right?"

Now on the fifth floor, Pete locked eyes with those of Detective Wolcott. The good detective was gazing out the window at the world below. At the sight of the psychic still on the premises, Detective Wolcott's eyes narrowed then relaxed. Though Pete was viewing him from a distance it appeared to him as if the man was seeing him in a new light.

A more serious light.

This change in demeanor was not surprising to the pizzeria owner. He knew he was right about that place. But the feeling in his gut that coupled the change was neither good nor bad. Pete returned his gaze to his wife. She had witnessed the exchange between Detective Wolcott and her husband, and noted the changes in both of the men's auras. It appeared they had reached an understanding.

"I really don't know." said Pete.

Detective Wolcott didn't know either.

/

East of the Brooklyn Bridge it was exactly a quarter after one.

It was a few blocks from this and inside of a nondescript motel, that captor and captive sought refuge. It had taken the pair an hour to secure a mode of travel and an hour more to find the motel. With a little haggling the pair managed to score a double.

The room smelled of cat urine and was decorated circa 1970's. Both of the beds were draped in floral sheets and a moldy brown shag carpet covered the floor. There was a flat screen TV on the wall but it only had Pay Per View channels, and hanging beside this was a distracting and peculiar painting of a dolphin jumping over a silver moon. There were curtains drawn tight over the windows, but it was useless. The view of New York shone through the thin fabric along with the rays of the midday sun.

Haloed in this light was Claudia.

The redhead was fast asleep and wrapped around her laptop like a cat. She had been in that position since she had passed out over an hour prior. The moment the pair had entered the dingy room, the redhead collapsed on the bed and murmured something about "free wifi". She spent a vast majority of her time furiously typing online until she finally tired.

On the opposing bed, the heiress was sitting with her knees hugged to her chest. Though her face was blank, her green eyes were curiously absorbing in the room's detail. Never in her life had she imagined spending the night in a literal roach motel. She wasn't sure whether to be disgusted or mortified by this new fact. Though the room appeared clean, she found herself thinking it was infested with germs. Shivering, she ran her fingers through her hair. Once again she found herself surprised by its length.

Claudia made a mewling noise in her sleep then rolled over facing the heiress. Hazel eyes popped open and blearily took her in. Confusion covered the accomplice face followed by a flicker of panic. The redhead sat up so fast, Myka was surprised she didn't launch herself off the bed.

"You!"

The redhead jabbed a finger in Myka's direction. The heiress pointed towards herself, her eyes innocent wide.

"Me?"

"You didn't do anything!" Claudia yelled.

"Huh?"

The accomplice's eye twitched in impatience, "Anything stupid! Call the cops? Report me to CIA? Email your father?"

"No, I've been here the whole time."

As she said this, Myka gestured to the bed. Claudia narrowed her eyes at her and swiftly roved them about the room.

"No moving?"

"Just used the shower," Myka stated defensively, "Was I not supposed to?"

Instead of replying, the redhead glared as she sharply scrutinized her. Myka was wearing a different t-shirt. It was black like the last but this one had a corset collar. The trim of her bra was visible along with the dip between her breast, it wasn't not sexy. A flush crossed the redhead's face and she quickly averted her gaze to grab her computer.

Myka's lips curled in amusement at the younger girl's reaction. The more she got to know the younger accomplice, the harder it was becoming for the heiress to take her seriously. Claudia really was a young woman. Not just in age, but also in her mannerisms and level of confidence. The heiress was willing to bet money that the accomplice probably wasn't even eighteen years of age yet.

Despite this theory, there was something about the younger girl that the heiress found interesting. It was intriguing watching Claudia interact with the older captor, how she seemed to solve things and come up with ideas that would surprise both Myka and the other woman. In the short time the heiress had gotten to observe them, she had determined that like her mentor, the redhead was a paradox she would like to study. Perhaps even get to know.

How did Claudia and HG meet?

Why was the teen working for that woman?

And most importantly- where in the world was this young girl's family?

Though these questions burned inside of her mind, Myka knew she was not in the place to ask those sorts of things. She was an outsider. Or as HG put it, something they needed to use.

"Sorry about that," Claudia murmured.

On the other side of the room, the redhead was crouched inside the mini fridge. According to the accomplice it was the second plus feature of the room, but to the heiress it was an entirely useless double negative. Not only was it filled with sugary drinks and candy bars, it didn't have any Twizzlers. What type of place was this?

"About what?" Myka asked.

"Uh...falling asleep?"

The heiress didn't respond.

Claudia crossed back to her bed with a Redbull in one hand and a package of M&M's in the other. Myka had to bite her lips to keep from chiding her on the breakfast. It wasn't like it was morning anymore anyway. As the heiress' own stomach growled from lack of food, the redhead sipped her beverage and cradled the fully booted computer onto her lap.

"Ok…Myka Bering, I need your eyeballs."

"What?"

The redhead turned so she was facing Myka and patted the spot beside her. It was a signal for the heiress to join her. Myka complied and made herself comfy next to the younger captor. Once they were both situated, the redhead enlarged the windows on the computer screen and dropped her fingers away from the keys. All that Myka could see appeared to be a series of spreadsheets and calculations.

"What is this?" Myka asked.

"This is what the inside of your father's foreign accounts look like,"

The heiress' eyes widened.

Green orbs riveted across the screen as they took in what was being displayed. Now that she knew that the numbers were sums of money, everything else fell into place. She began to gloss over some of the titles attached to the sums and questions formed.

"I didn't know we owned a pipeline in Croatia," Her eyes narrowed and dropped down to a row a few spaces below, "And what's with these charities in Dubai?"

The redhead snorted, "Yeah, well you do."

The heiress took her eyes from the screen and dropped them onto the redhead. There was so much she wanted to say but none of the words would form coherent sentences. When the first words finally strung together, they came out in a blurt.

"Why are you hacking into his accounts?"

There was accusation and a hint of betrayal in the heiress's voice. As her fingers flew across the keys Claudia calmly spoke, "You see, he's really, really nifty. From the looks of it, your family has been using their money for government enterprises, but the way the accountant labels them–

The redhead cut to allow the heiress to fill in the blank. Myka's brain connected the dots before her eyes.

"They all appear as Charities." she breathed.

"Bingo."

The beat that followed this was entirely backed with the clacking of keys. The heiress didn't say a word as she watched one screen shift to another, this one filled with a series of intricate codes composed of letters and numbers. She watched as the redhead compiled the series and yet another window appeared on the screen. It was for the Bering & Sons Corporation database.

"What made you do this?" Myka asked. Her curiosity was genuine as she took in the techies handy work, "Why would any of this matter to your cause? I mean, I thought you didn't want his money, right?"

Without looking from her work, Claudia replied. "When the reward was announced something just didn't feel right, so I went with my gut to figure out why."

"And…?"

Myka's stomach clenched. She really didn't want to know, but then again she did. The techie pushed the "enter" key and a screen filled the window. Myka saw her name and a series of dates and numbers, some of which appeared to be transactions completed within the last twenty-four hours. She didn't quite comprehend.

"It's not his money he's spending. He's awarding money out of your trust fund."

"Wait, what?" the heiress sputtered.

Claudia folded her hands and turned towards Myka. The expression on the redhead's face was grave and reminded the heiress of a Funeral director.

"Ms. Bering, you're paying for your own rescue."

The heiress' mouth sealed tight. She didn't even appear to be breathing. Mistaking Myka's silence for anger, Claudia continued in an attempt to placate her. It did not have its intended effect.

"It's a small amount when you think of it, especially with your pockets, but it's still a bit strange don't you think?"

Myka numbly shook her head, one of her hands was weaving through her hair.

"It's like he thinks I'm the reason I'm missing!"

This comment led the techie to tilt her head, Myka winced.

"Well in a sense I am, but I wasn't in the beginning. I didn't even know anything about any of this," Myka's voice raised, "I didn't even know your plan!"

The heiress hunched over her lap with her hands clasped around her head. Her face was dark and closed off. Claudia wasn't very good with people- or so she believed – so seeing Myka's reaction coupled with the senior Bering's peculiar move deeply confused her. If she didn't know any better, it appeared that there were some serious issues between the two Berings, daddy-daughter issues.

Uh-oh, did we snatch the wrong Bering?

If that was the case, months of practice and study, just went to waste. They needed a Bering that could serve as leverage, not someone who was just as good as a paperweight! The redhead almost lost herself to panic at the realization but then just as quickly reeled herself in with one undeniable truth.

HG Wells never makes a mistake.

With that line as her mantra, the redhead took a breather and switched gears.

"Why would he think that?" the redhead gently prodded.

Either she genuinely didn't know or she was playing dumb, either way Myka Bering claimed silence. Claudia gave the heiress a few minutes to budge but she refused. The redhead huffed exaggeratedly and returned to typing. Screens started to rapidly open and close, some caught Myka's attention but the redhead did not elaborate on them. After a few minutes passed, Claudia awkwardly cleared her throat and spoke.

"Hopefully by tomorrow, we'll get a lot of big things accomplished,"

Myka all but rolled her eyes, "If you say so."

Through the strands of her hair, the heiress observed the redhead. The younger woman was still working on her code. There were bags under her eyes and tension in her shoulders.

"What happened to her?"

Unlike the heiress, the young accomplice was not as good at masking her secrets. The techie's typing faltered and her eyes shot downwards for the briefest of seconds. Almost immediately, the same worried tension from earlier returned to her features. Her cracked armor was exposed.

The heiress was not going to let this moment pass. Myka re-adjusted herself so that she could face the redhead's profile. Claudia had stopped typing altogether, now she was tracing the corners of her keyboard. She looked depressed.

"When you were on the phone, your face went all wonky and you looked… shocked. Something happened to her right?"

The redhead's fingers stalled at the corners of the screen. Myka swore she saw them tremble.

"It's nothing." Claudia murmured.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes,"

"Really?" The heiress pulled a few centimeters closer, "You know, I could probably help you out if you just open up a litt–"

"Why does this even matter to you?" Claudia snapped.

The redhead twisted towards Myka, her eyes were red and glossy, "It's not like you knew her personally, and she damn sure doesn't mean anything to you at this point,"

Myka found she couldn't counter any of the claims.

"Just because we're using you now, it doesn't mean we're some charity case. We're definitely not some Richie Riches pet project."

The redhead thumbed a finger in Myka's face. Though the words stung, Myka could tell it was just the younger woman putting up walls.

"I'm sorry if you feel that way, I definitely don't see either of you that way. I just wanted to help you both any way that I could," Myka said.

"Yeah, well that's it. Your job is to just sit there and do what we want you to do and that's it. You're not supposed to do anything else. You're not supposed to be our friend. You're not supposed to –

"–Care?" Myka finished the phrase.

It was basically a repeat of the earlier statement when she had asked about Christina. Across from her, Claudia rapidly blinked her eyes and turned her face away. The young accomplice's hazel eyes held the look of a wounded puppy dog. Even though tears were threatening, the heiress was more than certain the redhead would've claimed dust or an eyelash as the culprit. Myka wanted so badly to reach forward and console the younger girl it broke her heart that she couldn't.

What could've possibly happened to HG to evoke such reaction?

The theory of her possibly being arrested sprung into her mind and Myka almost guffawed. HG seemed far too competent to have been caught, plus if she had- the heiress highly doubted she would've had trouble escaping. She didn't know why but the thought of the darker woman MacGuyvering her way in and out of situations seemed more appropriate. No, if she rephrased it, it felt more appropriate.

Perhaps HG got into trouble with the rental?

As Myka considered this notion, she rubbed her thumb over the base of her middle finger. It was a nervous habit she'd had ever since she could remember. The only difference now was that the hard metal normally felt in this area was gone. Confused, the heiress' eyes darted down to her right hand.

When did they take her ring?

The heiress couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the disappearance before and chided herself for letting it slip. That ring wasn't any old ring. It was a family heirloom passed from one firstborn Bering to the next. It was said to strengthen leadership qualities to all that wore it. Myka didn't really believe in that hubbub, but she wore it anyway. In fact, she wore it every single day since her first day of college.

Myka turned to the redhead to ask her about it. The younger woman was staring down at her keyboard. Seeing the image bothered the heiress, she pushed her questioning off to the side to give the redhead a few moments of silence. It didn't take long as shortly afterwards Claudia cleared her throat and raised her face. The accomplice was wearing a forced smile.

"Uh…We're still cool right?"

Myka softly replied, "If you mean me not calling the cops still, then the answer is yes."

The corners of the redhead's eyes crinkled.

"So…we're going back to your place later, popping bottles and sipping Merlots?"

The forced humor was unsettling, but Myka understood the techie's need for levity.

"Of course," Myka replied, "Just don't forget my Twizzlers."

Claudia pressed a button on her computer and the screen saver faded. The heiress couldn't see what she had entered as she had tilted the screen towards her person.

"I want to code for bit."

And that was the end of the subject.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LANGUAGE Warning. TRIGGER!
> 
> This chapter is short, but VERY important. Still not satisfied with it, but its close enough. If you don't like him as I've depicted him, you won't enjoy the rest of the story.

Warren Bering was not having a good day.

First his morning started off on the wrong foot. He had stubbed his toe on the side of the bedpost on his way to the bath, and then he gave himself a cut across his left cheek while shaving. By the time he made it downstairs for breakfast, he discovered his coffee was cold, and when he distinctly told his wife he wanted three sugars and some cream, she only put in one sugar and no cream. Instead she told him something about being heart healthy and offered him porridge, baby food for crying out loud, to eat for breakfast.

As he took his seat at the table, Warren told himself that tomorrow would be different. That he would make sure to push the bed back half an inch and would buy a new razor blade. That he would have his wife or assistant leave the bowl of sugar and cream out for self serving. And that most of all, he would restore order and control in his life.

Total control.

Once his plan was settled, Warren went on with his breakfast. He buttered his toast then sipped his cold coffee. He even sprinkled a handful of berries (picked fresh from the garden) on top of his meal. Just before digging in, he reached over to the left and for the first time that morning, he smiled.

On the corner of his bowl was his newspaper neatly folded and in its proper place.

Every morning for the past nearly forty years, Warren read the newspaper as he ate. It was always the New York Times and The Economist. Unlike some people, he read the entire paper, front to back, and then if time permitted, he would take out a pen and fill in the crossword. It may sound strange, but reading the paper and filling in the crossword was the only time Warren Bering felt at peace. With the pressure of running the Bering-Sons Corporation all three hundred sixty-five of days of the year- that five letter word was a rare commodity for the multi-billionaire. There were always too many business trips, too many board meets, and way too many kiss-up campaigns for that word to even exist. He just didn't have the time for peace.

After a quick note of the clock, 8:48 am, Warren spooned some of his cereal and roughly flipped the page. The smile on his lips faded just as quickly as it came.

There in bold Times New Roman point 36 font was an ugly reminder of the one thing in his life he couldn't control no matter what-

TWO DAYS COUNTING, MYKA BERING MISSING!

-His eldest daughter.

Forest green eyes widened as they traced over the front page. Immediately, Warrens bowels snaked with fury.

Ever since the day she was conceived, Warren knew she was going to be trouble. After months of treatments, test to be certain he would have a perfect heir, and one of the best geneticists that money could afford and yet still, she came out as just that- a girl.

It was an unspoken rule in the family, all of the firstborns, if there were to be more than one child, were boys. Always had, always should've been. Being first made you strong. More tough than any sissy boy lastborns, and stronger willed than middle children. And all he got was a girl.

Then there was school.

Like the Bering's predecessor's, all Bering's studied Business or Engineering. Always had, always should've been. Not his firstborn daughter. She went off to Harvard and spent his money not on an International Economics Degree as was planned- she came back with a double major in History and Philosophy.

What the hell did a billionaire need with a degree in Philosophy?

He could've wrung her neck with that Magna Cum Laude scarf they had the nerve to award her at the end of the day. Seriously, who fails at reading crusty old books anyway? That's all she did with that degree. Or at least, that's what Warren believed.

And then there was the icing on his cake, Paris.

She did get an invite to study Law there. Though it wasn't a Bering thing to do, Warren willingly admitted it was about time they had a lawyer in the family. That case, the Bering's would no longer have to rely on secondhand resources with their legal issues and such. With a lawyer, they could officially keep the company completely family owned and operated, totally Bering controlled.

Things were allegedly going great in Paris. They found out she was offered to seat in a high firm and she even got featured as a rising lawyer in the Law Review.

But then there was that guy.

Don't get him wrong, out of many of her boyfriends, Sam was actually not that bad. He didn't reek of ganja nor was he spewing Socrates every few seconds. He knew how to wear a suit and tie, and he also knew what cufflinks were. He even had a good palate for wine and fine dine despite being a Southern roots youngling. And most of all, he wasn't a sissy when it came to getting down and dirty with work. All those things normally made an impression on Warren, like most fathers he was the toughest critic when it came to their daughter's choice of mates. But….

Warren couldn't stand that son of a bitch!

Why did she have to fall in love with the son of his RIVAL Merchant?

Out of all the men in Paris, she would stumble across the one man who just so happened to be related to the southern oil merchant Evers Martino, aka BIG TEXAS.

Warren hated the Martino's. They were nouveau riche and they all thought they knew something about oil. The Bering family had been in the game for years, nearly a century, and to think these people, these so-called Martino's, thought they could up come the Bering Dynasty- Warren wanted to laugh.

Just when he was getting used to the idea of a Sam Martino being in the family, the idiot just had to go and die on them.

Warren didn't know what was worse, that idiot dying in a motorcycle crash or his idiot daughter getting so distraught that she turned bohemian and gave up on her career. Who does that?

It was one thing to get sad cause someone passed, it's a whole different spin to turn into the great American Whore and go gallivanting around, not combing your hair, and becoming a hippie cause your depressed. It was disgracing seeing her on the front covers of the tabloids, running her mouth off about changing Tax laws in favor of the less fortunate, showcasing her liberal lifestyle through live press reviews, and even having the nerve to be shacking up in Paris as an so-called, "Artist". It made him sick to his stomach.

Then just when he thought her antics were dying down, she had to go pull this garbage.

Both spoon and paper shook in Warrens hands as he read the headline for the 1000th time. When the acid growing in his mouth grew too much to bear, he tossed the paper sideways and it knocked the bowl of berries over. Red and blue scattered across the white tablecloth in the semblance of a poorly construed American flag. The billionaire huffed at the image.

Warren never thought it would've got to this point with his daughter. If now ever was the time, he knew without a doubt that if she ever was found he would definitely have a few choice words he wanted to give to that little ungrateful bitch. For all he knew, she probably decided she couldn't go on anymore and killed herself somewhere. Myka was always a smart girl. Maybe she figured if she faked a kidnapping, it would save her father the flack of them finding her dead body.

The older man snorted once again and aggressively shoveled the now cold porridge into his mouth. If he could've he would've shoved her back into the womb day one.

Myka was always his biggest mistake.

Warren had worked up to his fourth spoon full, when the dining room door popped opened. The unannounced visitor was his assistant holding the cordless house phone.

"Someone wants to speak to you, Sir," the assistant squeaked.

Warren stared at the young man for a long moment before wiping his mouth off on a napkin and briefly responding.

"Who is it?"

The younger man flinched at his cold tone. "They didn't say, Sir."

The senior Bering waved him over and roughly handed the phone. Before speaking into the receiver, Warren tilted his head and locked eyes with the young man. The look he gave him was withering.

"Remind me to fire you after I'm done," Warren said.

The assistant's Adam's apple bobbed and he curtly nodded his head. At that, Warren dismissively turned his back and pressed the phone against his ear. He didn't speak until he heard the sound of the assistant tripping on his way out.

"Bering speaking, what is it?"

Ten seconds of heavy silence followed. Thinking no one was there, Warren went to hang up but then there was a crackle on the other end. He pressed the device to his ear and the voice of the last person he ever expected to hear resounded through the ear piece.

"Six years sounds like such a very long time, but in fact it's no time at all. More or less, half a decade in fact..."

Warren's face blanched, his hand gripped onto the table as he reeled. He hadn't heard this voice in years. It was the sound of a land divided by sea, of an aristocracy older than even his own hand-me-down Dynasty. A tongue older than the America's itself.

It was English.

"I've been thinking about these years. How one can get so much accomplished in six years, so much created, so much destroyed and buried. And yet for certain individuals, these year's that have passed only seem to mark the anniversary of absolutely nothing..."

"Not a peep. Not a scream. Not even an explosion."

As if he expected someone to walk in Warren's eyes snapped to the door. He quickly crossed over to the window and peered through the blinds. There was nothing and nobody. He abruptly locked each of the latches and snapped the blinds shut. Once this task was complete, Warren hustled his way over to the dish cabinet and pulled out the middle draw. Secreted away inside of the draws false bottom was a dull silver revolver. Withdrawing the weapon, the billionaire felt a burst of courage. For the first time since picking up the phone, Warren Bering spoke.

"How did you get this number?" he said. His voice held the edge of a threat.

As if he never spoke a word, the voice on the other end continued its drawl.

"… I found myself wondering even more. If six years have passed, each and every year as infertile as the last, what if it's not that these individuals are lacking creativity, but what if,"

There was a pause here that caused the senior Bering to sharply intake a breath.

"What if the creation is simply being hidden?"

Warren Bering bit the inside of his mouth so hard he could taste the alkaline of his own blood. The billionaire fingers fumbled for ammo while at the same he focused on steadying his breathing. He could practically hear the smirk on the speakers lips as they continued uninterrupted.

"The only people who would know the answer to that, are the people who were there to witness the creations inception."

Pause.

"Where were you then Warren?"

Warren gulped, his hand holding the phone trembled but the one cradling the gun was taut. His eyes flickered over to the clock again. This time it was 9 o'clock precisely.

"What do you want?" Warren stiffly asked.

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean by that?" Warren said.

"Warren, you and I both know how much you loathe sharing your toys."

Warren's finger gripped so tightly over the gun's trigger, had the safety not been on he would've shot himself in the foot. He released the weapon and instead placed his hand on the receiver. His voice dropped an octave as he harshly muttered into the phone.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, or what kind of sick game you think you're playing, you sure as hell aren't scaring me or my family,"

There was breathing.

"But I already did."

The line went dead.

Fingers shaking, Warren dialed another number. On the fourth ring, the line picked up and there was a voice of a friend groggy with sleep. Before Warren spoke, he thickly gulped. He wished he could just go back to eating his lousy cereal.

"Arthur, he knows."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benchwarming in a hospital and bodies. Dead ones.

Day Three – 10:43 A.M. AMERICA

"…Resources have stated that British Officials have issued an alert along the continents border and are monitoring travel. All civilians traveling in or out of the country will be searched for either proofs of—"

Click

" …two days missing Heiress. There is a reason to believe that Myka Bering is still alive and possibly being held for ransom––"

Click Click

"…Officials aren't saying exactly what was discovered inside of the building to allude to the heiress's current wellbeing, but considering the discovery wasn't grisly- we can all still hope for the––"

Click

"…press conference this evening and again tomorrow at noon. Warren Bering and his wife, Jeannie, will speak out for the first time since the alert. Again, if the heiress is spotted she is a 5'7" Caucasian brun––"

Off.

HG tossed the remote sideways across the bed and plopped backwards into the pillow. The news was giving her a headache.

"Dr. Orzo to the Nurses Station, calling Dr. Orzo,"

The would-be captor rolled her eyes to the door. Instead of placing her in the waiting room, they rushed her directly to admittance. That was six hours ago. There was a curtain blocking her line of vision and all she could see were the handles of a wheelchair poking out the area behind it. She could hear the beep of a monitor and a ventilation tubing system. As of now, she had yet to see her roommate's face and she was partially curious as to who the man, or woman, was beyond the curtain.

Footsteps entered the room and she heard the sound of someone flipping a page inside of a clipboard. HG braced herself for the intruder. Her arms were already sore from the many blood withdrawal's she had received, she wasn't anticipating anymore.

"Ms. Lake, you're awake,"

HG raised her eyes to the voice of the older woman and relaxed.

Dr. Calder was a fading image of a once beautiful woman. HG tried to imagine her in her earlier years, breaking hearts with her appearance and baffling, as well as upsetting, all of her male counterparts with her intelligence. The thought caused the sides of her mouth to quirk into a slight smirk. Had this been another time or place, perhaps she would've tried to best the doctor. Perhaps even tried to seduce her.

"So how are we feeling today?"

The dark haired woman huffed and raised her hand.

"Apart from this morning's horrible tea, quite well thank you very much."

Dr. Calder chuckled as she drew closer to examine her. She pulled out a small light which she shined in both of her eyes then gestured for HG to allow her to check her heart with a stethoscope.

"No headache?"

"No."

"Any nausea?"

"No."

"Did you have any strange dreams or hallucinations?"

"Mhmm, not that I recall. What is your definition of strange?"

The older woman shook her head, the corner of her lip was up.

"Your vitals are much better today, the nurses did a good job with observing you last night."

HG didn't say anything she simply bridged her fingers together. These were the same questions they asked her last night. Nothing's changed much since. The doctor pulled a chair close to her bedside and laid the clipboard across her lap. Her brown eyes fixated onto HG were full of concern. If the doctor was going for comforting, it was a total fail, the younger woman felt a prickly urge to flee.

"I'm certain you already know what I want to talk about so I'm just going to dive in here,"

There was a beat.

"Your nosebleeds, how long have you been having them?"

Again, HG was silent. The doctor couldn't tell whether she was withholding information or simply didn't have an answer. Undeterred, Dr. Calder forged on.

"Nosebleeds are quite common on and after a flight, Ms. Lake. However, it's the severity of your nosebleed coupled with a seizure that's really concerning us,"

"High altitudes can cause seizures," HG countered.

"Nice try but not likely," Dr. Calder's smile faded slightly, "Planes these days are pressurized. Most people that suffer epilepsy or frequent seizures can fly just fine without worrying about it serving as a trigger."

At the memory of the incident, HG grimaced.

She had bit her tongue during the episode and nearly tore through the tip. The wound was deep enough that she had received five stitches. They were comfortable with only a hint of soreness.

"But they do occur," HG said. She knew she was being difficult. The patient doctor only shook her head.

"Something tells me that you're a lot more intelligent than this Ms. Lake,"

HG blanked her face.

The doctor raised her clipboard and took out a pen. She scribbled in a note that HG couldn't see then spoke, "Did you suffer any nosebleeds on the plane?"

"No, I was perfectly fine."

That was a lie.

"Did you see an aura perhaps?"

HG blamed it on the migraine she had prior to boarding the plane. Ever since she was released from the hospital after the assault, she had suffered intense headaches. The doctors had told her then that there was something to worry, but HG blew it off. As long as she was still breathing, she felt nothing else really mattered.

HG sighed, "I'm not very sure, I see things all the time doctor."

Dr. Calder nearly dropped her clipboard as she gave the younger woman a double take. HG apologetically waved her hands and hurriedly spoke.

"Joking, joking. No, but seriously. I'm fine, fit as a whistle as you would say. I just forgot to take my medication before I got onto the plane."

The doctor quirked her brow and pulled up the chart, "What medication?" the doctor adjusted her reading glasses to decipher the scrawled notations.

"It says here you mentioned only taking Aspirin,"

Darn it.

"Oh, it was just a little medication for the seizures, it's what I get from my regular doctor back in my homeland."

Dr. Calder lowered the clipboard, "Does this doctor have a name? I really would like to speak with him or her, perhaps we could share a few notes."

Bloody hell!

"Uh, his name was Dr. Humphrey. I don't remember his first name though, we're not on that type of basis. It's more or less a "hi" and "bye" type of checkup when I go to his appointments."HG leaned towards Dr. Calder, "You Americans won't really get it, it's a British thing."

"Oh really?"

The doctor didn't seem convinced, HG's charming smile only seemed to make things worse.

"Ms. Lake, even if you are uncomfortable about something in your medical history it is perfectly normal. I promise I will respect your confidentiality as a patient but also as an individual––

The doctor was interrupted by the chirping tone of a pager. Dr. Calder reached into her coat pocket and removed the device. Giving it a quick read, her eyes widened slightly.

"Please excuse me Ms. Lake, I'm wanted in the ER."

Dr. Calder stood and closed the clipboard.

"I'm scheduling you for another MRI. When the neurologist gets in, we will continue this discussion. Until then, if you want or need something press the red button on that remote and a nurse will be here to service you."

Just as Dr. Calder went to draw back the curtains, HG's voice rose from the bed.

"How long?"

The words were soft and sad like. The doctor turned to meet her new patient's eyes. Now that HG's veil of confidence was gone, her face was stricken.

"How long what?" Dr. Calder asked.

"How long do you expect me to stay here?" Before the doctor could reply, HG further elaborated. "I'm from overseas, and my insurance is limited, I doubt it covers most of these test let alone several day's worth of-

The woman held up her hand and HG drew to a silence. Dr. Calder's wise eyes brightened as she gave HG yet another reassuring smile.

"Not a word, you're on our soil now. We'll talk about the billing when the tests are done. So just take it easy. I'm sending a nurse to check in on you in an hour, if you want, call your daughter and we can see what we can do about sending an officer to bring her to you."

With that, Dr. Calder turned heel and exited through the curtain. HG was at a loss for words as she listened to the doctors footsteps cross the threshold back into the hallway.

She's kind. Too kind.

HG thought. On the intercom another name was called and there was a flurry of footsteps in the hall followed by silence. The lack of sound gave her an eerie feeling.

Now what are you going to do Wells?

HG knew she was feeling worst than usual on the plane, but she blamed it on their mission. If she was to be honest, she was never a person to suffer from nerves. In fact, it was her having "nerves of steel"- as the twins used to joke- that made her the best out of all of the researchers at the facility. But that was ages ago. Before her first death.

Perhaps she was losing her touch?

When she had stabilized from the seizure, the first thing HG thought was that she was grateful that she hadn't fallen in front of her hostage and young associate. She was in her weakest state during the episode and highly doubted that Claudia would've handled seeing her like that and as for the heiress…HG really didn't want to suffer under any more of her curious stares and pity filled glances.

The second thing HG did was answer her disposable phone. There was only one person in the entire world who knew that number and even more, she already knew why they were calling. It was hard trying to get the medics to allow her to take the call but a little fib scored her a pass.

"It's my daughter!"

"Should we send an officer to escort her along?"

"No, she's a teenager. She knows her way around,"

She was only seconds into the call when she heard the redhead's voice. Claudia was furious. HG didn't have the heart to tell the young woman where she was or what happened but she did it anyway.

"I fainted, they're taking me to the hospital."

Ok, so maybe that was her second fib for the evening.

Despite the reason being not nearly as severe as the actual ailment, the redhead still was frightened. HG heard her voice as it shook on the other end.

"That's really, really bad. Ok. I got it. Just…just hurry up, ok?

Claudia never mentioned the heiress, so HG figured things were running smoothly with them. If it were, that meant one less thing for her to worry about and that their mission could continue on as planned. She'll just label this incident as the crook in the road.

How long will you keep up this charade Helena?

Instead of answering herself, HG slipped out of the bed onto the floor. She was in a hospital gown and her feet were bare. On the linoleum floor, her toes felt frozen. The dark woman crossed over to the bin at the foot of her bed and pulled out a plastic bag with a hazard sticker on the front. It was her clothes. Her shirt and pants were ruined, they were spotted with blood. Looking at it now she realized it was a lot more blood than even she remembered.

"Whoa, that's a gusher!"

The memory of a young man's exclamation coupled with the paramedic's gentle but firm hands as they guided her onto a stretcher. Now that she thought about it, despite it being gory there were several onlookers. For all she knew someone probably had been filming the incident and posted it on the internet somewhere.

The inventor breath hitched as she ran a finger over the soiled fabric. There was no way she was going to get those stains out.

And that was my favorite shirt too.

HG poked her head around the curtain and spied her guest. There was a young woman slightly older than Claudia fast asleep. She had tubes linking from her nose and wrist. From the collection of "Get Well" cards and fuzzy bears on the nightstand, HG assumed she must've been in the hospital for quite some time now. This observation led to an even bigger one on her part. They hadn't just placed her in an overnight ward, they were looking forward to her staying for several days.

HG tipped past the slumbering girl and went towards the closet against the wall. When she opened it she discovered a shelf of fresh linen and coarse towels. She thought hope was lost until she spied a small bag nestled on the very bottom shelf. The captor picked it up and discovered that there was a navy blue tracksuit and a pair of lime green sneakers.

The entire outfit was not her style but it was enough. She quickly pulled on the clothes and shoved her discarded gown into the waste basket. She checked the bag again and discovered a wallet with a twenty bill, some credit cards and an ID. As she pocketed all of these goods, on the opposing side of the room, the girls pulse fluttered and the monitor beeped. HG glanced over her shoulder to her roommate.

"I'll return them," she whispered, "Promise."

Coincidentally, girl's heart returned to normal. HG stepped closer to the nightstand and took one of bear's bows. This she used to tie up her hair into a ponytail. Just before leaving the room, HG peeked the chart at the foot of the girls bed.

Lucinda Sewall -Age 23- DOB-5/12/1990- Ailment- HEAD INJURY

Emergency Contact- David Hansen (407)859-2369 Relation- Uncle

It didn't seem like much, but it could come in handy. Storing the information, HG's eye's flickered over to the clock and it read 11:16 am.

She was on time.

The writer didn't feel at all out of place amongst the patrons in the grimy bar. The recession did a number on this part of New York. You would think without a job to fill their pockets, this place would've been empty, but in fact it was in full gear.

A tubby man with a hairy chest wearing nothing but a leathery vest was standing behind the counter wiping out glasses with a brown spotted towel. His eyes were fixated on the blaring tv screen across the room. It wasn't football, it was the ponies.

Someone had done the honors of using a sharpie to write the word "TIPS" on a jar on the center of the counter. It was filled with pennies and condoms. HG took a spot across from this, her eyes vaguely interested in the story of the jar. When the commercials cut into the race, the bartender finally gave her his full attention. He looked her over and spat off the side of his mouth. She wondered whether or not it hit the floor.

"Hugo?" HG said.

The bartender's eyes flickered to the backdoor. Smirking, HG laid a ten across the countertop and took a tumbler of gin. She crossed from the table and entered the arch leading to the dungeons.

At this point of the journey most women probably would be clutching their selves for fear of rape or murder in an area like this. For the writer, she looked to the discomfort as added character, a shady place with filled with shadier people.

"Hugo" was a smuggler who ran a ring underneath the bar. It was cliché as most "secret" organizations got but unlike it's contesters, it actually had top notch ratings. Hugo's Basement was a name whispered amongst those looking for a bite of black market, and particularly wears that dealt with animal trading, illicit gambling, and abnormal sex. It was an underground Walmart of the sorts.

Entering the room, HG dumped the tumbler into a plant beside the door and handed the glass to a thug hanging on the wall. From there she swept her eyes across the space. Hugo was seated at a table eating a platter of cookies with milk. He was a much older man, in his late sixties to mid seventies with wiry white hair, and he was wearing fuzzy bunny slippers with blue flannel pajamas. The first time HG met him she didn't believe he was her contact, and she dismissed him with a laugh and a threat of brute force if she wasn't faced with the real smuggler. After a truffle dinner and three board games later (Chess, Battleship, Chutes and Ladders), she realized he was merely an eccentric.

"I took good care of it for you," Hugo said in greeting.

Without responding, HG took a seat at the table. It was hard earning her trust but there was something honest about the quirky man. A duffel bag was laid flat across the table in front of her. It was hers she'd given him for safe keeping.

"Just in case the FED's decided to case this place, we sent it around the world on a grand tour."

Her hands paused mid unzipping. She looked to the smuggler in askance.

"Don't worry, my most trusted man did the trick," Hugo's mouth curved at the word, it seemed dirty, "He's missing his prick and doesn't speak a lick of English, he's mute."

It wasn't the state of the man that ensured her, it was suspecting how he got that way that did. HG opened the bag.

Everything was how she had left it.

"Calvorite,"

The dark woman's eyes lit up as she traced her finger across the top of encased compound in admiring. The quicksilver surface was cool to touch and seemed to vibrate slightly. Hugo looked on in mild interest provoking the woman to elaborate.

"If used correctly, it counteracts gravity. Wrong, it could lead to a series of unfortunate implosions."

Hugo leaned all the way back in his chair.

"We had a chemist in the basement, he tried working some of his magic to recreate that stuff using your notes,"

HG abruptly raised her head, "He was successful?"

"I said tried not succeeded," Hugo's face took on a nasty grimace. "He blew half of his head off in the process. Brain spaghetti all over the ceiling and floor, it took the boy's weeks to get all of the equipment clean."

The writer's eye's briefly clouded over, only to be quickly replaced with a cruel smirk.

"Excellent,"

Hugo nodded his head in agreement.

"Thought you would've enjoyed that," The smuggler struck up a finger as if he had just remembered something important, "Oh, and I got that other thing you wanted,"

It was here that HG's demeanor shifted to serious. She was alert and her gaze matched onto the peculiar crime boss.

"Show me."

At once, the smuggler stood and directed her deeper into the den. In passing, there was a mini restaurant, an area that led to a pool, and a full section dedicated to hotel like rentals.

How much did they fit down here?

No matter how many times she came, she always wondered. Hugo's footman opened a door that led to the back of the kitchens. When she was led to a freezer, Hugo himself warily smiled at her and drew aside so that she could enter first. Instead of the room housing food, it was filled with body bags. From the notation hanging off of tags on each of the bags, it appeared to be sorted by system.

"Caucasian, curly brunette hair, and green eyes," Hugo recited the description as if he were checking off a grocery list, his footman scurried into a section HG figured housed all of the bodies of brunette women. A minute of wait and a table was wheeled towards her with a nude woman lying across it. Her face was grey and her lips blue. She had to been dead for a few days, maybe two or three.

"The shoe fits doesn't it?"Hugo said.

He looked to HG expectantly. His expression was so dutiful, one would've thought she was his boss. HG leaned closer to the dead girls face.

"Her nose isn't quite right," she said.

"I can fix that for you,"

Hugo's hand went to pick up a hammer that was lying on a tray. HG's eyes flashed and she held up a palm stopping him.

"No, no, it's fine,"

Minus the fault, the woman looked so much like the stolen heiress, HG found herself staring at her. Morbid curiosity churned inside of her brain.

"Where did you find her?"

"She's one of Nicky's, apparently an OD, bad for her, lucky for you. I've never gotten a body this fresh without killing it myself."

This news of how the woman died surprised her. HG examined the woman. Her skin was clear, her hair even held sheen. Had she not been lacking a pulse she would've thought she was fast asleep.

"She doesn't look like a druggie?" HG commented.

Hugo noisily coughed into his fist, "Well you know the game, more difficult they are- the more dope they get. Someone just gave her more than she could handle."

HG noted a pinprick in the forearm of the dead girl. It was bluish and could've passed for a bug bite.

"So she was a newbie?"

"More than likely."

It was a dark business but after living on the fringe for nearly a year, HG had immune herself to it. She placed her hand on the cold woman's forehead and gently stroked her hair. Though she looked very much alive, she surly didn't feel it. Death did something strange to the body. HG removed her hand and turned to the smuggler. Her face was resolute.

"Dump her in the river."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> *if that's your phone number it's purely coincidence. completely off the top of my head.*


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of the detective. PLUS, OC character mentions.

4:03 p.m. – London

"What have you got for me Magnus?"

The forensic examiner spun in her chair towards the entering Detective. A smile curved on her lips as she picked up a folder and handed it to him.

"The gag was a match."

Detective Wolcott's brow arced. From years of working with the detective, Magnus understood that to be his excited face. She continued with her own findings.

"But also here is the information on the hairs found in the closet," She slid a microscope towards him and gestured for him to have a look. His face twisted slightly as he leaned inwards to view inside the lens.

"The one you're looking at is the darker strand which shows signs of radiation."

"Really?"

He adjusted the lens on the scope to view the strands closer. After a few more seconds, he stood up and blinked his eyes. Dr. Magnus slid the scope back over to her side of the table and pulled out an analysis sheet.

"Extremely high levels of radiation," Dr. Magnus said this as she handed him a sheet to read for himself. "I'm honestly shocked that whomever this person is even alive."

The detective glanced upwards from the sheet to discover Magnus wearing a somber expression. "If they are alive, my best bet is that they may be very sick. Radiation on these levels normally can cause cancer or organ failure."

Wolcott closed the document and tapped the file to his palm, "But it's not Myka Bering's?"

"No, she's a brunette. The age of the hair consists with the possibility of it belonging with one of her captors, see the state of the follicle? It's not dried out. This person has dark hair, black in fact."

"What of the other hair?"

"It was synthetic. You know those extensions the teenagers like to wear? Those kinds that are pre-dyed?"

Wolcott grimaced. "Those horrible things Erica likes to put in her hair?"

"Exactly, from the description your witness gave, it could belong to the young woman who answered the door."

"Intriguing,"

Detective Wolcott had been in the business for eighteen years. This wasn't the first time he worked a wealthy hostage case and thanks to his report, it wouldn't be his last. He was a bore and bred East Ender, he knew crime from the cradle and he knew how to handle the most asinine situations. In fact, it was his beginnings that helped him solve his first ever kidnapping. A young girl was kidnapped from her million dollar home in Manchester.

He pieced the puzzle together and deciphered not only the how and why of the crime, but most importantly- the where. In thirty-six hours, he and a team of twelve saved the little girl from a duo of thugs who were in fact furious ex-employee ground keepers for the family. They felt they weren't treated right and didn't like the minimum pay they were receiving from the rich bastard that hired them, so to exact revenge they took his daughter and held her for a million dollar ransom. It was an open and shut case.

But something about this particular case made no sense.

Wolcott's cell phone rang and he dug it out of his coat pocket to check the caller, it was Erica his daughter. The detective pointed a finger to Magnus in pause then turned sideways to answer the call.

"Yes?"

"Dad?" Erica's voice sounded hurried on the other end, immediately, Wolcott switched to panic.

"Love, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to tell you that I'm taking the bus with Ashley and Jaime to the movies."

Releasing his breath, Wolcott looked down at his wristwatch. In a few more hours he would be off the hunt. Considering he only got weekends to spend with his daughter, he was looking forward to sharing what little of his time off with her. Now that plan was out of the window.

"Wait, I'm close to there, give me thirty and I can take the three of you instead," Wolcott's face lit up at his swift thinking, "Free ride in a copper's car, movie and dinner included!"

On the other end of the line, his daughter gasped and broke into a sputter of mortification.

"Dad, I'm fifteen years old! I know how to get by just fine, we don't need you to chaperone us!"

A wince bought onto his face and Wolcott shook his head as he imagined his daughter's expression. In the background he heard giggling, it must be the girls.

"Erica listen to me, be careful. There are some bad, bad people out there. Keep your eyes open, pay attention to the details."

The teenager groaned. Though she didn't live with her father, she had heard him say this more times than she could count.

"Ok..." she huffily replied. "Just don't embarrass me again like you did last time and keep texting me at every stop, Leslie Harold was sitting next to me and she wouldn't stop laughing every time you did it."

Even his face colored at the memory. He just wanted what was best for her. Anya had gave him an earful that night telling him to quit being so "paranoid" all the time.

"Alright, I won't, back by seven?" Wolcott said.

"Nine," Erica shot back.

"Eight,"

"Eight-thirty,"

The detective closed his eyes and imagined the night. Tonight was going to be quiet and safe. There weren't any big games this weekend and the carnival had left just a month prior. If anything, the girls would only run into a few hobo's on the trip, maybe a few of their school friends. Wolcott opened his eyes and spoke.

"Deal."

Erica exclaimed and excitedly shouted something to her friends. The detective listened as the other girls yelped too. He wasn't sure whether it was a good or bad thing that they were so enthusiastic about the prospect of him not being around. They were just teenage girls, what could they possibly get into?

Magnus raised an eye to the detective after he hung up. She was wearing a smirk.

"That age?" she said.

"Of course," the detective sheepishly scratched his chin, he appeared dazed. "Sometimes when I speak to her, I swear I can literally feel myself growing older in the bones."

"You're not that old Wolly," said Magnus.

"But I'm getting there," Wolcott straightened his tie on his neck, "I'll contact the Berings, you might want to send their lawyer a copy of the findings." The detective swallowed as if he had a bad taste.

"The Senior Bering is a bit… difficult."

The examiner snorted as she met his eyes, she was holding a vial of clear solution and a cotton swab. "I'm sending a fax when the rest of the samples are finished, maybe in an hour or so, what time is it there? About ten? Before lunch seems like an appropriate time to drop a bomb."

The detective's face twisted, from the examiner's interpretation, it was his laughing face.

"You are one strange woman Magnus," he finally said.

"Say's the even stranger man."

The duo shared a laugh. It was warm and type that only friends would only understand. Once it was over, the examiner handed Wolcott a folder of copies and pressed her hand to his forearm.

"Don't let this case drive you too crazy Wolly, something tells me everything is going to end well." she said.

Wolcott's clear eyes searched her face. He never liked making predictions about a cases ending. It was too much like jumping the gun.

"How can you be so certain?" he asked.

Magnus didn't reply. Releasing the detective, the examiner about faced and returned to her microscope. It was her dismissal.

"If I find anything else, I'll call you, the boy's are still going at the rest of the samples and may find something."

As the detective saw himself out, Magnus' voice rang out from the side of the room.

"Freshen up a bit and take the rest of the night off, will ya? I think Erica would appreciate it."  
.....

Two hours later, Wolcott called it a night.

He and Detective Aarons had closed off the final half of a robbery case they had been working that evening. It was a success. Though the owner of the shop had been murdered at the crime, his wife and daughter would now rest certain that the men who committed the heinous act were now behind bars. A sad story with an almost happy ending.

On his way to his flat, Wolcott called the Bering's lawyer, Arthur Nielsenn. It was his fourth time calling the gentlemen and as the prior attempts, it was futile. Unlike the answering machine that responded previously, this time a secretary answered and told him that Mr. Nielsenn was unavailable and to try again if it was important. The indignant detective only snorted at the line. He was trying to alert the family of the findings, how important did the news have to be? If the billionaire and his lawyer didn't see this news as important, Wolcott wondered just what were the family's priorities.

It wasn't till Wolly opened his front door did he remember the state of his home before he had left morning.

Dirty laundry and piled dishes made up the stench of the quarters. He kicked himself. Just a few days ago, he swore to have the place cleaned in time for his daughter's arrival. Because they only got weekends and holidays together, he made it an effort to keep things in order for he didn't want her to see what a sty he allowed the house to become in her absence. He didn't care enough about himself to worry about living in the filth, but when she was around – he wanted it special. But as usual, work got in the way of his planning.

Kicking his way through some trash, Wolcott swore as a tray with grey meatloaf leftovers spilled out onto the rug. It was already moldy in some spots and left a nasty grey smear on the cream colored flooring. The detective dropped his suitcase and placed the trash back into the bag and placed it off to the side to take out later. From there he went to the bath for a quick wash and discovered a Tesco sticker clinging to the side of his pants leg. He remembered it from his purchase of chips the other night, and how he stopped in to grab a ginger ale for his stomach and some kid was passing them out. How it got stuck to his clothes and how long it had been there baffled him completely.

No wonder she wanted to go out with her friends so badly. I really am embarrassing.

He thought.

Thus, Wolcott dried his hands and tried to make more work of the rest of the house. He barely stepped into the kitchen when he came upon a basket of clothes in front of the breakfast table. These he had attempted to clean a while back, he couldn't remember when. Seeing it was blocking access to his makeshift "office" he tossed the laundry into the wash then settled down.

When Erica wasn't around, he liked to use the kitchen for his case files. He would spread them out against the table and open each file so the contents would display. As he had a little time till she got back, Wolly did this with the Bering files he had acquired. He removed all of the snapshots of the crime scene in Paris, the shattered car window, the smashed cell phone, and the broken heel of a stiletto from its folder and mixed it with the shots of the inside of the London loft.

Wolcott lined each of the photos so that it would be arranged how he imagined each event carried out, starting from the Parisian club all the way down to that cherry red ball gag in the London closet. As the night progressed, he would rearrange each shot and try to image each scene from a new angle of what if's. With each new angle came a new story, in each new story, he tried to imagine himself inside not only the victim's mind- but the assailants. Being a detective, he had to know what made people tick, why did they react the way they did, and most importantly, what they were planning next. This method wrought heavily on any sane minded individual, but as any detective would've told you- it was how most worked. As he laid out the last of the paperwork, only briefly did Wolcott wonder what Magnus would say upon seeing him working from home, but this got squashed with his worrying reminders.

To help himself relax a bit, he decided to make himself a drink. The detective opened his fridge and shuffled through the contents. Most of everything was child friendly- apple juice, milk, and a few bottles of water. As strange as it was, the sight of this gave him relief. That was one thing he got right. He didn't like having alcohol in the house during his daughter's stays. Some could call this being cautious, others may say he was overprotective for it, as for Detective Wolcott himself, he didn't give a damn what anyone thought. Too many teens ended up in his station for drunken shenanigans, if he could save his daughter from it he figured the best place to do it was to start from home.

Wolcott chose juice and poured himself a full glass.

"Detective William Wolcott,"

A voice that sounded disembodied rose from behind the open fridge door, instantly graying detective startled and his glass of juice sloshed out over his front.

"Jesus, Mary, bleeding Christ!" He squeaked. "Who in the hell—

Wolcott swiftly whipped the door closed and his face turned pale. As the figure drew from within the shadows, he hurriedly wiped his lips on the back of his hand and straightened his posture.

"Mrs. Frederic!" he exclaimed.

Mrs. Frederic nodded her head in a curt signal of acknowledgment and daintily crossed her hands around her front. For a woman he hadn't seen in years, her gaze was as steely and unnerving as it had been the first day they had met. He got goosebumps just thinking about the first encounter.

"For a detective, Wolly, it always surprises me how easy it is to break into your apartment." Mrs. Frederic said.

And she was right. In his everyday life, Detective Wolcott was a cautious man. Four padlocks on the front door. Double locks on the windows with heavy duty enclosing. A gun was hidden in every crevice, one in the lamp, another on the side of the fridge, three others scattered strategically throughout the house.

Thinking of it now, he could see why Anya left him in the first place.

"This is about Bering isn't it?" Wolcott asked.

"Why? Would it be about anything else?"

The detective didn't respond.

Mrs. Frederic pulled a seat and sat down. Despite the squalid kitchen, she looked as if she were perched atop of a throne. Now hyper aware of the state of his house, Wolcott was embarrassed and wished he hadn't been ambushed. He would've at least taken out the garbage!

"Do you have any ideas to anything as of yet?"

The stubble there made a rasping noise.

"Uh, yes, we swept the scene and only hard evidence we did find was a gag. Magus ran an analysis and it was the Vic's. I just got the results."

Twenty four hours gone, Myka Bering was already labeled a Victim.

Mrs. Frederic nodded, "Good, what else?"

The older woman's reaction led him to relax a little. Wolcott pulled the chair out across from her and sat down. His hands were twitchy with nerves.

"Well some hairs were found, but they weren't hers. We need more hard evidence to place her at the scene though, so the sinks were checked. She had a lot of hair, hopefully she used the loo at some point to freshen up…" Wolcott's face became sheepish at the gaffe. "What am I saying, kidnapped girls don't freshen up!"

For some odd reason, Mrs. Frederic's presence always made him feel young and slightly insecure. He knew he was a good detective, he had plenty of success to prove it, but one moment in her presence he felt like a greenie out on the field again. It was a humbling experience and made him realize just how much more he still needed to learn. Wolcott swiped a palm across his face and took a heavy swig from his cup. He forgot it wasn't scotch and was surprised by the flavor.

"No, I think it's a wonderful idea Wolly," Mrs. Frederic said.

Instead of replying, Wolcott stared at her.

It was here that Wolcott first began to wonder if Frederic was patronizing him. Mrs. Frederic was the only person who could ever catch him off his A – game. The woman was a force of her own in the American CIA, and as a young detective, he had seen her work firsthand. It was a case involving international drug cartel. He had stumbled across a find bigger than the local yokels and even Scotland Yard could handle. The CIA ended up getting involved when it was discovered that the very man he had tagged as being responsible for a European drug craze, was in fact an US informant with ties to the Middle East. Tossing him in prison meant not only a bunch of angry drug lords, but also one furious Shah. Talk about a sticky situation.

Wolcott pushed his empty cup off to the side and folded his hands.

"I don't want to be rude, it's always such a pleasure to see you Mrs. Frederic but…" his throat bobbed, "Uh, why are you here?"

" I thought you retired?"

Mrs. Frederic's mouth twitched, a shadow of a smile on them. "Agents never retire Wolly, nor do detectives. Didn't they teach you this in the force?"

The gray detective's lips cracked showing his teeth. Frederic placed the envelope on the table and eyed the detective. Across from her, Wolcott sat upright, his pale eyes alert.

"I'm here because I have something to give to you."

Wolcott's eyes dropped to the orange envelope. It was pouch like and shaped like a long rectangle.

"Now this information in here is very important and time sensitive, you may need it and you may never ever use it." Frederic direly stated.

"Listening," Wolcott said.

The older woman leaned forward ever so slightly, she pressed a finger to the corner edging the package closer to Wolcott. The detective palmed the envelope and hefted it in his hand. He couldn't tell what it could be.

"The last time you dealt with a case with the CIA, you were given instructions, no?"

Wolcott nodded his head.

"And you followed each one to the letter am I correct?"

"Of course!" Wolcott's eyes snapped up to hers, he sounded scandalize.

"Good."

That one word again. For the first time in his life, Wolcott saw Frederic do something that scared him more than anything in his life, the corner of her lip went up into a genuine smile. Wolcott shivered but hid the motion by running his hand over his neck.

"In a few days you will receive more information on this case, when you do, I want you to open this envelope hear me?"

The detective's face colored with irritation.

"What do you think, I'm some schoolboy?" Wolcott's voice was tinged with frustration. "What's the big deal? Why can't I open it now?"

"There are things in here you won't understand as of now," Frederic seemed to waver here but she caught herself. "But if my suspicions are correct, and I do mean suspicions, I need to know that all of our p's and q's line up."

Wolcott didn't quite get where she was coming from, but he trusted Frederic. Probably more than he was willing to admit.

"Ok."

Frederic stood but her eyes were focused onto his.

"Continue to utilize Mr. Lattimer, Detective Wolcott."

"I am," Wolcott affirmed.

"Do please, he is going to be valuable asset to your boys at the station and I think you'll regret losing his service,"

Insecurities creeping in again, Wolcott's face darkened.

"You don't think I can handle this Frederic?"

In typical Frederic fashion, she calmly evaded answering the question outright.

"We all can use a little backup every now and then Wolcott,"

The cryptic look she gave him made Wolcott feel ants all over again. He awkwardly cleared his throat and fiddled with the package.

"So hypothetically, let's say I never have to open it. What do I do with it then?"

"You will know when the time comes."

Frederic turned to the living room and looked around. Her eyes fell onto the windows.

"Nice drapes," Frederic said.

Without looking in her direction, Wolcott replied. "Thanks Erica helped me pick them the last time she was—

He looked up to meet her face and discovered she was gone.

"All right then," Wolcott murmured.

Wolly continued to gingerly thumbed the envelope. His palms were steady but had broken into a cold sweat. Whatever was in there was calling to him. And whatever it was, it was something ugly. His instincts were going off and in his chest and his heart had begun to race. Whatever was in the pouch, he wasn't prepared for it. He knew it.

The detective shoved the envelope into a cereal box and stuck it onto the shelf all the way in the back. He grabbed a mop to clean up the spilled juice and drew the sink. Erica was going to be back home in mere minutes to spend their allotted weekend time together. Hopefully he would have the place clean by then, and if she wasn't too tired they could go back out and grab an ice cream and go for a walk.

As Wolcott dragged his hands across his face, he just so happened to glance down at Myka Bering's photograph. The irony of the moment popped into his mind and caused him to wearily shake his head. He's solving a mystery involving a missing daughter, and here he is looking forward to spending time with his own.

Life was strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get super excited writing Wolly. Mostly its because I know his endgame and thus far, noone has guessed it. It's like a delicious secret that's dying to come out. Hopefully you all enjoy his presence as much as I do. :)
> 
> p.s.  
> in the original fic, his name was Parker Wolcott. Recently I realized it is William Wolcott.


End file.
